Post by infinity on Jan 22, 2007 16:29:58 GMT -5
[glow=black,2,300]Por t r a i t s[/glow]
The binds were shut. The nonexistent shadows thrived in the silent whispers of light— mocking the silence. The waves of deathly sick growing more tense and stronger with each passing breath. The above light was off, power stored in itself and the smallest entity in the room; for there was another entity— a child, a fraud.
The child wore a simple white bloodstained dress, the blood damning the simplicity of her soft pale skin and the white dress. Her feet were bare, the blood from the dress running down onto her legs. Her hands were neatly folded against her lap, the twisting of her hands forming a formal signal. Her hair was blonde, and the floor around her was the same color, as half of her golden stripes of hair had fallen down to the floor, probably from years of nonexistent use.
Her face was the true portrait of horror. Her face was completely in stitches, the seams loosening as time went. The seams covered her eyes, her mouth, her nose and scattered throughout was the vision of pain. It was the portrait of horror.
Her lips formed a slight smile. Before her lips were dry as dust, but now they over flowed with blood again, as her skin pressed onto the seams the holes dripped with crimson. And she sat there and smiled.
The light above flickered on, the room similarly dull as before. The Childs’ face instantly twitched, jittering instantly in the chair, more hair falling onto the floor, the seams growing bigger and the blood pouring from all directions. She shielded her eyes, the dark pools of nothing seams with stitches.
And then she opened her eyes.
They were holes. Two holes above her nose. The veins inside burst and open, the very being of her disfigured. To her surprise it wasn’t bleeding. She wasn’t bleeding anymore. She had become non-entity— she wasn’t living anymore. She was dead. She had always been dead. The light was her living self, the real her; teasing her that she was deceased. The light grew lighter still and the binds slightly opened and then—
The light flickered off.
And she stopped. The binds shut again, the darkness back to it’s place, she smiled. The dried crimson still there and she smiled. She placed her hands back to her lap and she sat there smiling.
The girl, dried blood, stitches, illusion, alone, transparent, beleaguered and a twisted smile.
The perfect portrait of horror.
H00rah; anywho, horror is such a fun genre to write about. Itz so cool LOL. D:
But no, seriously, I guess I kinda pictured Namine in this position but it's not KH-ish so it's not fanfiction-ish.
"critisim is needed kthxbai"
But no, seriously, I guess I kinda pictured Namine in this position but it's not KH-ish so it's not fanfiction-ish.
"critisim is needed kthxbai"