literature

Everything's classier...

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It was daylight. But it was grey. It was one of those days. Words flowed out of her mouth and they hit me. They hit me and they hurt. They weren’t grey words. They were black and had edges. Edges to cut things. Edges to break things. Edges meant for me. I looked at her eyes and saw the same edges. They were blurred by tears but the edges were there. I didn’t say anything for fear of my words being brutalised by her edges. This was what she wanted and I just let her have it. No fight. The edges were enough, I didn’t want more scars. It was over. That was what the words meant. Things were finished. This had been fleeting for her but ever-long for me and it ended with edges. It ended the way it had been all along, with edges. I could never deal with those edges, even when they were laced with affection. That was what she was, all edges. Oh, and corners. She could dig those in whenever she felt the need. Drive them in and pull them out and taste the blood. And with that, she walked away. Her edges and corners and lacings of poison following behind like a cloak. I was left to myself to bleed out and make a mess of the carpet. Metaphorically, that is. Realistically, I made a mess of my life.

I went home and I sat. I sat and I watched and a world unfolded before me. A world of right and wrong and good and evil and black and white. This monochrome world was comfort for me. A place of dreams. A place so unlike the world outside my front door. So unlike the people outside. So unlike the people like her. So without edges. Or corners. This was definitely a world without corners. It was my world now. It became my world as I sat and watched. I sat and watched them all and they became everything to me. They whispered to me to stay with them and to keep away from the outside and all its horrors and edges.
So I stayed. I stayed for longer than I could count. I stayed until things ran out and I had to order things over the internet. I didn’t like the internet. It had too many colours. But it had fewer edges than the adverts (also with far too many colours) that interrupted my black and white world, so it was a somewhat welcome refuge. The deliveries came and I answered the door. Taking things quickly so as not to give enough time and chances to the edges. The delivery men seemed indignant about the slammed doors in their faces but I didn’t care. They probably had edges too. Some of them probably even had corners.
Sometimes people called. They asked how I was and why they didn’t see me any more. I told them I was fine. Fine but busy. I kept things quick. I could hear the edges behind their voices. As time wore on they called more and more and the edges became clearer. I stopped answering the phone after that. I would’ve unplugged it, but then the edges would have known. Work were the only people who stopped calling. They only called a few times. They fired me in the last phone call. I didn’t need them anyway. Work was awash with edges. And don’t even get me started on the corners.
Sometimes strange people would knock at the door. I threw things at them. Things with edges. Some of them bled in my garden. One bled and lay down for a while on the driveway. I shouted at him for a while and threw a few more things but he didn’t leave. Eventually I gave up. He was gone when I looked out later while more adverts were trying to sell me edges.

Time passed and the black and white world began to repeat itself. Things began to run out again but this time I couldn’t order more as my money had also run out. I ate the last few things in the house and sat down to watch. The black and white world repeated around me and I fell into sleep. I slept and I dreamt in black and white.
My dreams were a mish mash of the world I had watched. But somehow, it was different. I didn’t realise at first. But then it struck me. Literally. The edges were here. They had taken over my black and white world and they were cutting it and they were cutting me. They cut and they cut and they stabbed and they broke my skin over and over till I was bleeding and scarred. Then it got worse. The edges stopped and I tried to stand but I couldn’t. I looked down at my feet and they were tied. Then I found my arms tied. Then I looked up. I looked up into her. She was standing over me, her cloak of edges flowing around her. I tried to scream and the edges cut the noise from my throat before it even started. I looked into her eyes and they were no longer blurred by tears. They were nothing but edges. She looked at me and she laughed. She laughed and the sound of her voice flowed out and became edges. The edges flowed out into the sky above and twirled around each other and then dived towards me as one. I couldn’t help but watch as the black laughter hurtling towards me became a sharp corner of darkness. It came down and down and drove itself right into my heart. And that woke me up.
I woke up in a hospital. Doctors stood over me and nurses attended me. They seemed pleased I was awake. They made noises about things. About starvation and how my family had broken down my door. I just looked at them vaguely and half listened. All I could think of was what would happen when I next slept. Would she be there? Would there be edges? Had the doctors saved me from the corner? I didn’t know.
The doctors eventually left and the nurses followed soon after. The last one out told me I should try to get some rest. I made a note of her. She was obviously on the side of the edges. I was determined to stay awake. I ventured to turn on the television. It turned out to be all black and white. My world had returned. But it wasn’t the same as my real black and white world. It was real world television just disguised as black and white. It unnerved me and after a while I turned it off.
I just sat in bed for a while. Just sitting and thinking. I sat until there was a knock at the door. It opened. It was her. She came in and she talked and said sorry and she cried and she said it was all her fault and she just wanted to make it right. I listened and I waited until she finished. She had asked what she could do. I told her. I got out of bed and I stood up and I told her. She could take back what was hers. I told her she could take back her edges. She said she didn’t understand. She said she didn’t know what edges I meant. I ignored her lies. I gave her her edges. Every last damn one of them. And the corners too. She was quiet after that. Quiet and bleeding. Bleeding and making a mess of the carpet. Not a metaphor, by the way, this was real. It was red and it stained. Oh well, it wasn’t my carpet.
A nice story. Really. Honest...
© 2006 - 2024 SusanDalle
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