………Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius.ici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius. Dici enim nihil potest verius.…………
The light in the center of the clearing
in the center of the forest
in the middle of the night
lit up everything around her.
It was so bright a light that
it burned little stars
behind her eyes and made her
stumble forward,
mindless to the brambles tearing
her dress away and
tearing at her skin, allowing the
blood to flow in soft red rivers.
She paid no mind to the slick redness
of new rips in old scars down her legs
and across her arms as she pushed
through the unforgiving foliage.
She paid no mind to the soft skin
of her neck and face, torn and torn again.
Some time ago, the tattered white shift
had long since shifted into twice-soaked red.
The clearing was just a few steps away
and the brightness was unbearable.
Her eyes were squeezed shut as she
broke free of the forest and fell forward into the light.
Her eyes could not adjust to the blinding
radiance of the being that stood before her.
She did not mind because she had reached
this place and the anguish could end.
She was sure he was the brilliance of
every diamond that had ever been cut.
He towered over the trees and looked
down at the bloody mess on the ground before him.
She was sure he was a kind of angel,
crafted of the oldest light, pooled together into this form.
His arms were crossed and he looked
down at the bloody mess on the ground before him.
She spoke with her lips close to the ground,
a soft plea for release from the anguish and
with deafening clarity she heard the sound
emerge from the throat of the angel made of light;
laughter so harsh that her cowering form
cringed into the dirt and her trembling mixed
the blood on her skin with the dust of the
earth and caked her arms and legs.
A new anguish imprinted inside the
cracked recesses of her mind, the realization that
every light is not good, and every angelic form
does not fight for the side of right.
This new anguish distracted her from her weakened state
as she lay, blood still flowing freely.
Her own light was extinguished with the
final thought of how especially bright it must be in Hell.
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I wouldn’t press like here.. to me this a devastating story of abuse. Really good and tense narrative.
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This is a story of giving up, and putting all of your faith into the wrong ideals. All metaphor. xo
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A disturbing tale loaded with intense imagery, and one hell of a potent ending.
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