Organ Strings

In Creative Writing by FaythFuILeave a Comment

I remember how good you tasted when you were bleeding.

Your insides smiling at me, my hands painted in you.

How labored your breathing was when I stood before you.

I could have swore you were smiling too, because you knew you deserved it – your own blood tasted good to you, just as it tasted good to me.

I even remembered when you screamed – when you could still speak to me. The light in your eyes flickered when my knife passed through you, puncturing your left lung.

I suppose I was a little messy there. I usually tie up the lungs first, and then proceed downwards, leaving pools of scarlet red alongside the rib cage as I extract what’s mine.

Mine, you question? Oh, darling, you were always mine – your organs meant to be tied on my strings. You were a puppet the day you were born, but all you were missing was the rope – and don’t worry, I’m here now.

Don’t give me that dead-eyed look now – pardon me, that wasn’t meant to be a joke.

You’re still alive aren’t you? I know you can hear me, your ears are still in tact, I promise – your heart is beating, beating, beating.

Hm? How do you expect me to understand your gurgling?

I wasn’t expecting your insides to drown this quickly – you could at least smile for me. I don’t even care about the blood on your lips. I quite like it, actually.

Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’ll be over once you’re, well, inside out.

Oh no, no, don’t close your eyes, you need to keep listening to me, okay?

You realize I’m freeing you? Your spirit is locked inside that body of yours, behind thickened skin, and fragile ribs. You were only a puppet when you were born without¬†my strings. They free you. I swear they do.

Do you want to know how many people I’ve freed? 26. I know, 26 people safe and sound with me, their insides strung up in canopies as close to the heavens as they’ll ever be.

Hey, where’s that smile of yours?¬†You no longer have to worry – you’re with me.

Just you wait, you’ll only hear your bones cracking for just a moment, and then your darkness will be exposed to the world.

Those nasty organs in you like to hide, I know it – they’re afraid of the light. That’s why I string them up so the sun can taste them after I taste them.

You are cleansed through this light, just as you’re cleansed through me, my little rabbit.

You’re not unconscious now are you?

I haven’t even filled my glass with you yet, and this is how you repay me?

Hm. I suppose not all broken things can be fixed.

But that’s why I’m here.

I will fix you, little puppet.

One organ at a time.

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