When I was a child, I was lost. From the moment I was born, my life began to crumble around me. From a very young age I learned to hide my thoughts from the world, for the world thought them to be strange. I learned that, although told differently, I would not be accepted as myself. I was taught to play a part. I learned to cover who I was with a mask.
I got used to hiding who I was. I was too different for anyone to like the real me. The sadness. The anger. Everyone hated it, so I buried it, and with it, myself. I was lost in the crypts of my past for so long, I forgot that the real me existed. That is, until I found a strange glow in the darkness.
I had gotten so good at hiding who I was, I could play any part, and everyone was a fan of my acting. I weaved my way into every group. Every community. I was loved by most, and feared be a few, but I was known by all. My life was controlled to the very last atom.
Then I saw her.
Her perfect porcelain glowed in the sunlight. Her beautifully broken soul shown through her intensely innocent stare. Her bones formed of polished crystal, covered in perfectly stretched velvet. Skin so soft I can't help but melt into her. She was so beautiful. So gorgeous. She was mesmerizing to the point of intoxication. The minute I saw her, I knew I needed to know her. I knew I needed her in my life. I needed her light to guide me through the dark.
At first I just watched her from a distance, terrified that I would ruin her. She was so perfect. My favorite time to watch her was when she thought no one was looking, because that was when she was the most her. When she would drop her act and simply glow. When there was no one she was trying to impress. These were the moments when she amazed me the most.
Soon, she began to speak to me. We would talk for hours a day, about nothing, and everything, all at once. So quickly she began to trust me. She formed an addiction to my habits. She loved feeding my demons, and searching for ways to induce my self destruction. She was fascinated with my rage, obsessed with my sadness, and in love with my hate.
The longer we were together, the closer we became. I watched her for so long that I knew her every move. She believes I am her closest friend. I’ve studied her. I know her better than I know myself. I feel her every move happening before it actually happens. I felt her moving within me.
I could feel her crawling within my skin. She began to become a part of me. I could feel her warmth. She took over my mind and my body. I can feel her blood pumping in my veins. I cannot stop myself from becoming her.
It began to drive me insane! The way she would taunt me with every step, every hip sway, everytime she would bite her lip. I could feel it for days. I loved her. My God, do I love her! She took over every aspect of my life. Her. She was everything. I can’t take it.
I had to do something. I had to get rid of her. Stop her from crawling within my skin. So I decided that I needed to have her. The cravings would stop if I could just overdose on her.
I had gotten her drunk before, she liked it. She trusts me. All it took was a little patience, and a slide of my hand. She swallowed the quickly dissolving pill without noticing. It took only a few minutes to kick in, then all I had to do was bind her hands and feet. She didn’t even struggle.
I needed to understand how she worked. I needed to see it. I needed to be within her, just as she was within me. I had to have her. I need her.
The knife cut so easily. Her skin parted without hesitation. She was a beautiful specimen. She has such gorgeous skin. It seperated from her lean muscles so easily. What an intoxicating mixture of pink and porcelain.
I didn’t want the blood to get in the way. I wanted to see every bare inch of her. I avoided her neck, her wrists, I didn’t want to pierce the superficial veins. Her body is so beautiful. It only took an hour or so to completely strip her.
Once I was done, I laid with her for the night, bathing in the act beneath the emotionless stars. Their harshly dim twinkle weighs down on me. I feel her beginning to wake as she slowly begins to cry. Her sobs become so violent that she ruptured her exposed veins and bled out in my arms. As her cries ceased and her warm crimson embraced me, I fell asleep for the last time with the girl I loved.
That morning, I had changed. I woke up different. But I could not dwell. The overdose was the easy part, it was the rehabilitation that would be hard. I needed to hide the body. We were out of town. It wouldn’t be hard to bury her just deep enough that the animals would find her. Once the body was eaten, my addiction would be no more.
I need to call her parents. Screaming, she was lost. “We were fighting and she ran away! I thought she would come back! I can’t find her! I’ve been looking all night! ” By the time I had driven back home, I began to believe my story.
We went out with a search party, but there was nothing but wandering footprints that ended after less than a mile. We kept looking. Her poor parents, I shouldn’t have let her walk away. It’s all my fault! How could I be so naive? My best friend was gone! Lost in those woods. I miss her so much, but we still can’t find her.
I wish it was me, she was such a good person, and now she’s gone. I wish I knew where she went, I think I lost a part of myself when I lost her. They never did find her body. Nothing left of her. Nothing was recovered of that poor, broken, porcelain doll.