Sometimes I think that there are two me's.
The first me is the girl you see on the outside. A person could look at me and see a too-tall, too-skinny girl with limp brown hair and a smile.
This is how I look, I guess. Everything about that appearance is relatively true. I am not one of those fake girls who pretend their abilities to impress a stranger. I have always been honest in who I am. My mother once said that this was my greatest strength.
So, should you ever notice me, realize that this is not a put-upon appearance. I attempt no subterfuge as I walk too fast with a sunburn and a smile.
What a casual observer wouldn't realize, however, is the reason for the smile. Most people grin when they're happy or amused, but there are other, darker motivations to do so.
This, I think, is why I'm still alive. Who I am on the inside is so hidden by my appearance that I am almost two people: the Outside Me and the Inside Me.
The only clue that connects the existence of the two parts together is the smile.
I am not happy.
I am not amused.
I smile because the pain is so much that it blossoms inside me like a choking vine. I am trapped by it. Every day, it squeezes tighter and tighter as it grows, the tendrils curling around my lungs. My skeleton. My heart.
But, like any flowering vine, it's a beautiful thing. I don't want to tear it down and destroy it. With every hurt it renders, I can remember.
They cause a magnificent pain, these memories, so I imagine them as a plant, both wondrous and deadly. In every blossom it puts forth is a face that I can no longer see. Each memory is a thorn. I love the way it pricks.
The sweet succor of the pain inside of me is beautiful because it's all I have. I cannot help but smile. It is a release from the pressure of it all; stretch my face, show some tooth.
My name is Nanette Bougereau. Three weeks ago, my mother, father, and sister were shot point blank in the head. The man who shot them frothed at the mouth, an empty syringe dangling from his arm by the needle.
He didn't demand money. He didn't say anything. Instead, he appeared in front of us like some malodorous spirit and aimed his gun at my mother's head.
Bang.
My father's head.
Bang.
My sister's head.
Bang.
My head. I still didn't understand what was happening. I stood there like a fool as the pavement turned red and sticky with expired life. The man, staring at me with his bloodshot eyes as quiet, endless hissings escaped from his drooling mouth, lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.
Click.
No more bullets.
At that sound, he glanced at his gun and shook it, as if it were some cheap electrical mechanism with a damaged gear. Giving up on it, he threw it down next to my sister's head.
Dark red things were leaking from her skull and I could see white flecks. Don't think about it. Don't think about it. But the memory is precious and I close my eyes and force myself to recall everything.
The smells: iron and blood. The shit from involuntarily voided bowels. The car exhaust that permeated every section of the city. Even the smell of the crazy man – urine and unwashed flesh.
The sounds: the song of police sirens.
A patrol car hadn't been more than two blocks away from where the murders took place. They were there before I'd even completely registered what had happened. Nothing entirely clicked until the morgue, hours later, with the hum of machines and the quiet monotone of the coroner's sympathies.
The strongest, most pestilent memory of them all is sight: Not the bodies of my family. I force myself to treasure those images, because shattered and empty, they are still the people I loved.
No, the thing I remember most is the crazy man, his gun and rage spent, the frothy drool still dripping endlessly down his beard and into the blood pooled at his feet.
Before running into the alley, he grinned at me. And with one bloodshot eye, he gave me a wink .
That is the memory that hurts most of all. Thinking of it is like needles, scalpels, thorns squeezing at the insides of my skin until all I want to do is scratch until the blood flows out.
But I don't. I keep it inside, safely stored in the secret realm of the Inside Me. While smelling the gun smoke and feeling the wetness of the blood soak into my sneakers in my memories, I'm actually walking along the sidewalk. You might see me and wave hello. I might even respond, all the while hearing the gurgling gasses escaping from my father's parted mouth.
I keep it all inside. There is only one clue, one sign for the world at large to realize the existence of the Inside Me who guards all my secrets, all my memories, all the pain like stinging thorns;
Everywhere I go, I smile.
Author notes
Let's see, this involves Love, Depression, and Drugs. Depends on your point of view whether it's twisted. That should qualify it.
Please give me any notes on how I could make this better. I'm considering using this as the first chapter of novel I have floating around in my head, tentatively titled, "Serial Killers Don't Kill Their Girlfriend."
So, if you were to open a book and this was the first chapter, would you read some more, or would you throw it down and say, "Damn, this shit is too depressing for me!" ?
Thanks for any and all reviews! I appreciate them!
A contest entry
- Make me jump by lov bigT wiggy.
115 points, ended April 8, 2007, 5 entries
Bronze trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Mourning by kenddrraaa.
350 points, ended April 15, 2007, 21 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Make Me Cry by creativediva.
125 points, ended April 22, 2007, 10 entries
Honorable mention
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - a sad story by Caledonia.
130 points, ended May 9, 2007, 17 entries
Gold trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - I'm a tough girl by MyaXhiroshi.
115 points, ended August 2, 2007, 13 entries
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Give me a tragedy. by StillbornAlive.
175 points, ended July 17, 2007, 5 entries
Silver trophy winner
• next story in this contest, remove from contest - Heart and Soul by Greeneyes15.
175 points, ended August 5, 2007, 20 entries
Honorable mention
• next story in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 15 of 15
-
Wow this was so good. Loved it a lot! it's was so sad and i just..i barley have any words to descibe it! (and i gotta tell ya, that doesn't happen often). You just did a great job with this. If this was the first chapter in a book i would totally keep reading, trust me. Great, great job! good luck in the contest and good luck!
--Greeneyes
-
This was a really good story. I loved it. Good job. It was well written, it made me feel sorry for this girl. I don't know if the word tragedy would fit for it, but it is quite close. Well done, keep writing.
-
Wow. Interesting concept. Creepy, but good. I'm not sure if I would read this. Probably, but it would have to have some sort of light note in there at least once in the story or I'd probably be depressed for a while. I'd still read it though.
-
This was good, it contained alot, Altho I'm assuming this is in option three.
It was amazing and captured alot of emotion.
In answer to your question, If I picked this up and it was the first chapter in a book, i would continue reading it.
Thanks for entering my contest and good Luck.
keep up the good work
Frm MDH
-
thnx for entering the contest.
okay wow this is really good i loved it. i would deffinantly read more. if you ever write more to this tell me. i would really like to see where you go with this. good luck and keep up the great work.
-
Oooooohhh
I love it! -
Wow, this is very depressing
-
Good.
I liked this. Especially the name of her, Nanette. If i have a kid someday, i may name her that.
About your author's notes, yes i would definitly continue reading the book if this was the first chapter.
About this not being a new story. I love fresh stories for my contests, but when i see a story entered that has been in four other contests and won stuff out of it. I don't prefer it.
But i may have to give this one some thought because i actually liked this alot. You give vivid details, a favorite of mine.
Good job, and good luck.
Thanks for entering.
-
Creepy
This is twisted enough for me. The murders and crazy drug addict are fine. What I like especially is how you get into her head. This chick is going to need some serious therapy (not that I can blame her). An unusual reaction, but realistic in her attempts to enshrine her memories as if they were holy and the survivor's guilt that prompts her to do so.
beginning: 4, plot: 4, ending: 5, characters: 5.
-
sooo sad, but extremely good. as for a book, i say go for it
-
I like the creative writing. Kept the story interesting and the subject of the story touched me...
-
Thank you!!! First one I thnk to place the category at the bottom of the page
This was good, not my idea of twisted but close enough.
The detail was good, and imagery was well.
One thing though, when you are doing fp then you need to keep track of past and present time when you are wording.
When you go to something like the past: when you are describing the deaths of your family you need to treat it in past tense.
But this is your story and it is upto you how you write.
Otherwise this was good and well done, I wish you luck in my competition and hope you keep up the good work in your writing.
Lady Madeline.
-
-
merci
Thanks for the comment, and the constructive criticism. I didn't realize the past tense wasn't clear enough.
One question - what does fp stand for?
Thanks.
-
-
Wow, I really liked this one Good Job
Thank you! -
Wow! This was very good. I did enjoy reading this. Thank you for entering. Good luck. God Bless!
Adding your comment:
1 - 15 of 15
