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#1
02-12-2010, 12:32 PM
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Funeral Dress
I hate posting my work for people to see, this is a rough draft. I accept criticism but please be gentle :)
She had been waiting for quite some time, she listened to the unknown creatures that seemed to come from her head, she listened as they crawled and scratched. Where was the salvation? The sanity? The hope she was promised? Her memory was fading, the last thing she remembers was a room, a sad room, faces burning her with concerned eyes, calming her with concerning lies, she knew they planned to take her away, lock her up, was she mad? Sick? It was all the same to them. A large door was shut and she was in darkness. Over there course of, weeks? She could hear rattling voices, booming sobs, talk of getting better, back to normal, what was normal for her? She could not remember, Her senses were waning, she could feel her hair, beautiful and brown, smooth, soft, but now it became ratted, she felt insects skittering, making their nests in hers. Her pampered skin had become rough. Her arms ached, again she felt the creatures work their way up her arms, down her legs, into ever crevasse of her once perfect body. At least her dress was still lovely and soft, they took her life and dignity but at least she had her dress. She could not see now, or feel, was this the madness setting in? Her mother was sick as well, she had not spoken to her for years. Her mother could be next door, wasting away in the same mad darkness. “How can a person tell if they are mad she wondered?” Her inner voice the only companion in this dark cell. “If I scream will they notice, or will they lock me away longer?” She pondered the idea for quite some time, as if the concept were relevant. She must be insane, talking to herself, remembering what she could and making up the rest. She did remember one thing clearly, her husband, David, the last image of him burned into her rotten skull, crying, trembling. “Did David abandon her like all the rest?” The bravest man she knew, the thought use to bring warmth. The only time she saw him cry was when she started fading; the doctor had long talks with her, with him. “I cried for you when they put me away, stretched my arms forward hoping to feel you one more time” “I can’t remember” Her voice echoed on the small walls of her cell, she must be insane, nothing but blibbering nonsense. She tried to remember the spring before she became ill, David wanted children, or did they have children? Cindy? Cindy was seven? Or was that her name. “Was it the fever David?” “I feel better now, no longer burning, I fear it took my eyes though.” She tried to scream did not have the energy. She tried to sleep again, she had dreams she could not wake from, nightmares, flashbacks and fantasies she could not distinguish. Silently she sat, for hours pondering living in a shell, never kissing, dancing or laughing. “If God loved me surely he would want better for me.” “Let me see David again, this is my last prayer, please” Waiting for her prayers to be answered, had she eaten? She must have, she recalls a nurse, or was it a painting. She fell asleep and dreamt of clocks. Hearing voices come and go, muffled, worried and sad. Morning? Had she slept? Whose voices are those, they sound clear. “David!” And another man! They were talking. Her husband was quite the sweet talker, flirted with a young nurse to let him in perhaps? Bribed an orderly? She was exited, trembling with unknown emotion for David. The voices spoke. “She doesn’t look to great, paid her a visit last week, are you sure you want to see her, son?” David spoke. “More than you know.” The other voice again. “Be quick about it.” David again! How romantic! He was the wings of her prayer, they had been answered! “One last time.” A loud thud, dim light, a shadow reaching for her, David had a strange look on his face, disgust, regret, Hideous, that’s what she was now. “He won’t touch me” “My love, if I could have stopped this I would have, the fever, the madness.” His green eyes caught the light; they were full of tears, blood shot and dark. “My favorite dress” David let out a sorrowful chuckle as he closed his eyes She was in shock; he pressed his lips against hers. “I’m sorry my love” “Sorry for what?” David’s eyes became feral, her dress slipped off her withered frame. This is what he was sorry for! If only she could speak clearly, she would tell him to take her in an instant! Sorry! It made her giddy, David was always the gentleman. She was thrown to the ground, the lights swirled around her as she heard David unzip his pants and force his way inside her. She could not feel anything; at least the madness could have saved her this! She tried to call out, tell David she loved and missed him, nothing.David was now over her, sobbing, his face looked dirty. “I’m, so, so-, sorry” “I’m sick” David ran off, she saw another flurry of beautiful red and blue lights. As he ran he kicked her, she limply turned over and hit her head. Her neck was cocked, she saw blood run down her arm, and she watched where it fell. The blood traced a map for her to follow, down into an empty box, dirty, wooden and desecrated. The fever had taken her mind, and with it her body. She pondered; At least her soul got what it asked for. And with this she finally slept peacefully, and on her own accord.
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#2
02-14-2010, 07:26 AM
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I'd say take the tone down a notch. This is a quiet scenario. Histrionics aren't good for things like this. Be more matter-of-fact.
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Horror and Bizarro novelist and editor
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#3
02-14-2010, 09:17 AM
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Yeah, I was thinking about that as well, again, this is a rough draft. I tend to write like a goth girl until I get it right :P
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#4
02-14-2010, 11:16 AM
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It's good to realize it. You're several steps ahead of many published authors, then.
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Horror and Bizarro novelist and editor
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#5
03-01-2010, 05:22 PM
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I was a bit confused as to the setting. Was she in a coffin, a crazy house, the basement? It would have been great if she was dead the whole time and her husband banged it up in her any way(that's romance talk)
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"The physical body is acknowledged as dust, the personal drama as delusion. It is as if the world we perceive through our senses, that whole gorgeous and terrible pageant, were the breath-thin surface of a bubble, and everything else, inside and outside, is pure radiance. Both suffering and joy come then like a brief reflection, and death like a pin" Stephen Mitchell
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#6
03-03-2010, 01:53 PM
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Quote:
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#7
03-03-2010, 03:23 PM
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I'd say your definetely on to something there, I'd like to read the finished draft.
__________________
"The physical body is acknowledged as dust, the personal drama as delusion. It is as if the world we perceive through our senses, that whole gorgeous and terrible pageant, were the breath-thin surface of a bubble, and everything else, inside and outside, is pure radiance. Both suffering and joy come then like a brief reflection, and death like a pin" Stephen Mitchell
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#8
03-03-2010, 03:25 PM
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Me too. haha
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