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Writing more writing, kind of disturbing


Ravenstorture
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Tell me if this kind of writing does anything for you, if anyone enjoys it I'll do some more.

Ravenstorture

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She has put her fist through the window of her apartment. As she pulls her arm back, along with half the window, the shards slice across her wrist and the palm of her hand, simple as a knife slicing through uncooked white chicken meat. The blood begins to fill the gash to the brim, spilling over, as she looks down at her hand with detachment. The sound of glass falling fills her ears with wind chimes, the sound of glass filling the blue night. Ballerinas of glass cling to her wrist, she plucks them out and lets them fall to the floor.
She walks to the bathroom and holds her cut hand under the tap, filling the sink with diluted blood. She smiles to herself - she always smiles when she feels broken and ground up, with nothing left except a diamond in her chest. A diamond that nobody can pluck out and possess. A diamond beautiful like herself. She knows she is beautiful because the sure, sharp mirror tells her so.
I see someone in the mirror, though, who is not beautiful, and that is why she hates me. I am the part of her she wants to kill. She has tried before, but what she doesn't know is that if it weren't for me she would have died long ago. I won't let her die, even if she doesn't like me I won't. Maybe that is why she hates me so much. I am the one who holds her together, and how can I help it if I see bloodshot eyes and the pores of her skin as she bends over the mirror?
The blood mingles in the water in the sink, in sluggish streaks. The water becomes the colour of roses. She can hear the glass falling in her apartment; her attention has always been held by bright and flashing things, and she is awed at having created the scattering glass with it's private, special orchestra. She loves everything prismatic, fake or real. Chandelier droplets. Diamonds. Treasure buried in white lines... She wraps her hand in a towel, watching the white material become tie-dyed with splotches of red. She walks back into the living room and sees the window, an open mouth in the night, dripping glass.
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:demon:
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[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Flipmodesquad [/i]
[B]I see, I believe you r talking about her innerself?R u? Well i believe its briallant.i think you should explain alittle bit more on what you is. [/B][/QUOTE]

By jove, I thinks he's got it.
Yes, the internal conflict.
Yes.

I'm cold.
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