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"Rivers" WARNING: potentially triggering.
Former Member
Posts: 1,876,323 The Mix Honorary Guru
This is something I wrote 2 years ago when I was in college, for a thing for Channel 4 which I clearly didn't win 
:
Flowing, running, coursing. Rivers down her arm, rivers down the bath, puddles in the dents. Red rivers. Rivers full of hurt, pain, humiliation, despair, anger. On and on the rivers flowed, flowed with renewed vigour each time a new barrier was broken. On and on the rivers flowed, flowed until they were dry. But they were not dry long, soon there would be a new river flowing in that place. As one river dried up, a new river emerged, red and flowing.
Criss-crossed like roads. Some long, some short, some connected to others, branching off like a tree. Some silver like snail’s trails, some harsh and red like paint on a white canvas. All of them glaringly obvious – to her at least. A constant reminder of her pain, of all those feelings in her head, that thing, a demon almost, that made her feel this way. But she could not stop. For this was a pain she could control.
She smiled, as the familiar feeling flowed through her. Smiled as the blood crept over her arm. Smiled as she felt alive, if only for that split second. Running her fingers along the raised lines that ran all the way up her arms, all the way down to her knees, and all across her stomach, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction. This is what she had become. Looking down at her slim, naked body, she stared at the scars that covered her, taking in each one in turn, obsessing over her creations. Every one of them a testament to him. He had made her what she was. Daddy’s little princess, all grown up. Scarred, battered and broken, inside and out. She may have held the razor but he forced it against her flesh. The most painful wound was that he wasn’t here to see her. See the damage he’d inflicted, the life he’d destroyed. A dirty secret only he and she shared, buried with him.
There was no feeling, no sensation. Everything was numb. Tears ran down her cheeks as she stepped, wincing, into the hot bath. Shaking, she took the razor blade from the shelf, and, after a brief pause, ran it up her arm from wrist to elbow, before plunging her arm into the water.
There would be no more rivers now. Instead, the sea of red in which she lay, silent, pale, cold. No more rivers, no more pain, no more anything.
:Flowing, running, coursing. Rivers down her arm, rivers down the bath, puddles in the dents. Red rivers. Rivers full of hurt, pain, humiliation, despair, anger. On and on the rivers flowed, flowed with renewed vigour each time a new barrier was broken. On and on the rivers flowed, flowed until they were dry. But they were not dry long, soon there would be a new river flowing in that place. As one river dried up, a new river emerged, red and flowing.
Criss-crossed like roads. Some long, some short, some connected to others, branching off like a tree. Some silver like snail’s trails, some harsh and red like paint on a white canvas. All of them glaringly obvious – to her at least. A constant reminder of her pain, of all those feelings in her head, that thing, a demon almost, that made her feel this way. But she could not stop. For this was a pain she could control.
She smiled, as the familiar feeling flowed through her. Smiled as the blood crept over her arm. Smiled as she felt alive, if only for that split second. Running her fingers along the raised lines that ran all the way up her arms, all the way down to her knees, and all across her stomach, she felt a strange sense of satisfaction. This is what she had become. Looking down at her slim, naked body, she stared at the scars that covered her, taking in each one in turn, obsessing over her creations. Every one of them a testament to him. He had made her what she was. Daddy’s little princess, all grown up. Scarred, battered and broken, inside and out. She may have held the razor but he forced it against her flesh. The most painful wound was that he wasn’t here to see her. See the damage he’d inflicted, the life he’d destroyed. A dirty secret only he and she shared, buried with him.
There was no feeling, no sensation. Everything was numb. Tears ran down her cheeks as she stepped, wincing, into the hot bath. Shaking, she took the razor blade from the shelf, and, after a brief pause, ran it up her arm from wrist to elbow, before plunging her arm into the water.
There would be no more rivers now. Instead, the sea of red in which she lay, silent, pale, cold. No more rivers, no more pain, no more anything.
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Comments
I'd have to disagree. It's the ending that makes it for me. Good work.