Created By

LinLin030988

Rate this Story

Embed

"Lay beside me"  The song issued from the battered boombox she had perched upon the TV.. "This won't hurt.. I swear..."

There she sat, staring at nothing in particular as she listened to the voice of James Hetfield reverberating around the dismally furnished motel room- the melody of heavy riffs and strong vocals coursed through her mind, making her thoughts blurr around the edges, as though it were intoxicating her.

To her, it really was... a drug burning through her thoughts, leaving behind a placid peace shining like pearl instead of ashes.

The knife shook in her hands- she started singing without any thought about it, staring at the stainless steel blade, watching her own shivering reflection, transfixed upon the single tear rolling softly down her cheek, and journeying into the corner of her mouth, gracing her lips.  She didn't notice it, too busy lost in thought.. what could she do... what now?

She turned the blade over, pressing the freshly sharpened blade into her palm, thre pressure from the metal causing the skin to flush white.

Where could she go?  She pressed in hard, drug the blade.  The skin broke, bleeding freely.  She moved the blade away, setting it carefully on her knee so it wouldn't slip and leave blood on the shabby polyester comforter.  She clenched her fist tightly, focusing on the pain, fixing her thoughts away from her tormented confusion to the flaring angry red of her newly injured hand.  She made sure her hand was still over her pants, a few blood drops there were better than any in the questionably attired motel room.

She closed her eyes and leaned back carefully onto the musty motel bed, making sure the knife stayed in the same place on her knee. 

Metallica still issued from the boombox, sitting on the television that the previous motel customer had neglected to turn off.  The same song still played on, swirling around the nearly empty room, still smoldering into her thoughts.  Her attention centered on the sounds of the guitars, strong, distictive, the sound of something familiar and loved.  She had even momentarily forgotten her hand in the moment.

Suddenly, predictably, the woebegone boombox skipped- it wasn't the CD however.  She knew it wouldn't work long, but that was fine.  After it died, leaving her only the hollow sounds of the dim TV's static, she sat up and stood, carefully taking the bloody knife off her knee and holding it carefully, both hands making sure no trace of her being there was left behind as she went into the adjacent bathroom to wash it off.  She couldn't stay here long- it was only temporary.  She had to keep moving.

*Note - Comment me on ideas for a next installment- I got bored and started rambling on paper, and got this, but gave it up as a standstill story.  Suggestions are welcome*