Stories I Never Finished

Pacify

Floating bubbles of opaque crystal, silky and clear in their distorted glaze, lingered with drifting moments of peace; swaying in the chilled air of the bathroom only to die.

Thousands flooded the bathtub, rushing water spilling over the porcelain white edge as a body sunk deeper into their warmth; pooling precious white bubbles into the overflowing drain embedded in tiled flooring made of grey. Shower curtain tight in its coil, its black plastic strained in a deathly pull from its buckled railing.
Pierced through the body floating in red-stained water, rusted silver disappeared among bubbles of purity, as dazed and floaty as the sound of a gentle melody echoing alongside a shattering effect of glass exploding under the impact of a bloodied and scathed fist.

A gasp tore through shattering glass as shards of reflections rained down upon the floor like diamonds to a wealthy wife with a desperate cheating husband.

"Why did you do that?" The gasp turned to a shocked whisper, wide green eyes of a pink-dressed doll flickering toward the deep brown of their friend's.

Pink Band-Aids shone like joy against earthy brown skin, a shade rich in desire like honey over the red lips of a temptress. Each one was gifted by the pink-haired friend, a dear best friend, in the hopes the lolita in blue would stop scraping their knees and cutting their hands.

Blue fabric swayed with a sharp movement, Calum turning to face his friend standing small in the doorway of the deadened house's tight bathroom, and as brown eyes flashed with madness a sickening smile curled its way onto lips so faded with blue they were closer to pink.

"Because his image is ruined." Calum whispered back in a loud tone, proud of his insinuation. "Don't you agree, Mikey?"

"I suppose." Michael fiddled with the Hello Kitty knife he held between pale hands covered by pink latex gloves. His pink dress, blood-free unlike Calum's, fluttered as a hand anxiously brushed over its side; avoiding the touch of the blood stained apron of a once pristine white he wore over his clothes.

"Do we leave now?" Green eyes flickered toward the dead man choked by plastic and partially submerged in the same water that wet splotches of Calum's dress. His lips parted, tempted to speak but yet losing the words as his eyes focused on the sickly red pool spilling from beneath the black sheet of plastic.

"We should." Calum agreed, pressing his knuckles to his palm with a crack before repeating the same sound as he roughly tilted his neck. "It wouldn't be right to lose the chase."

Michael swayed slightly, taken aback by the drowning sight of perfection laid before him, and he let out a soft breath--lost in time.

"They always look so pretty..."

With a slow, jagged, movement, emerald eyes found the edge of a shard of glass trapped in the corner of the broken medicine cabinet--a mirror shattered much to Calum's delight--and he pursed his pink lips as he caught a distorted sight of himself ever so briefly.

"Am I pretty?" He dragged a hand down the side of his face, smearing soft--almost invisible--pink makeup as his head tilted in wonder.

"No, of course not." Calum pulled a disgruntled expression as though confused by Michael's question. "Why would you want to be?"

"I don't like haunted homes." Michael muttered, disregarding the question as he peeled his eyes away from the broken shard; turning to glance warily over his shoulder as though he were a cartoon doll expecting a demon to jump his bones. "Do you think his ghost can see us now?"

"Who cares? Leave the calling card and let's go." Calum pushed past Michael's figure in the doorway, wildly gesturing his hands toward the sink basin with an expectant look on his face. "C'mon." He lightly shoved Michael toward the sink.