OBLIVION [Thomesa]

sixteen

And the artificial light,
a darkened grey,
filtered thickly into her prison cell,
exposing the dancing dust that drifted darkly thickly through this dungeon.

It caused her to wake immediately.
And she curls her toes,
and clutches her stomach to keep from crying.
And smiling,
he drops down, from the shadows to the light -
traitorous light!
O, deceiving friend!

For now the light has new meaning:
The light brings the true darkness to her soul.
The light brings the boogeyman bouncing straight from her bedroom,
from underneath her bed,
and straight into her real world -
into her lovely blood-red head.

And he does come;
painted white,
smiling bright -
(everything the opposite of what it should be)

He does come;
his shoes clicking,
each one a new bullet,
shot closer to her trembling heart.

"Hello, my dead -
whoops, I meant dear.
You're not dead yet, are you?"

And in the light,
light that forces entry between her eyelashes,
between the space between her pupil and clinging eyelid -
dispelling darkness,
inviting, inciting, the fire between her eyes -

She sees his face,
she sees the knife.
She sees the blood.
(How much more there is since last night)

And it all becomes real.
darkness is friendly.
Had she already gone mad?
She couldn't be sure.

"I have used the knife," he begins,
or perhaps it's been a lifetime since 'I have' . . .
"Against men. Against women. Against children."

He flashes it in the light,
shining it into her aching eyes.
She stared at him, her neck trembling from effort,
To keep her eyes locked upon that blade,
upon his hands,
upon the bloodlust in his eyes.

He moved it back and forth,
pleasuring in the fear she watched it with.
He sighed loudly.

"Against heroes. Against villains. And those awful - in-between-ers."
"I've heard you can survive the hostile conditions . . . Can you survive me? I hope you do. For a great long while. I hope you do."

Teresa's willpower gave out, and she wrenched her gaze from the blade,
turning her face into the ground, searching for darkness, searching for safety.

Her cheek scrapes against the rough cement -
and she finds none.
Janson grabs a fistful of her hair,
entwining his fingers through the fine silk,
tangled like a rusted chain.

"Look - at - me!"
He yanks her head toward him.
And she starts to cry.
"Look at me!"

She opened her eyes,
with a broken gaze,
and a quivering lip.

she tries to contain herself,
trembles,
and she falls apart all over again -
"Thomas!"

She screamed unwillingly,
begging for release from this torture -
and she screamed his name again, and again -
until Janson wrestled her up from the ground where she thrashed,
wrapping his arms around her.

He tucked the knife beneath her chin,
and clamped his gloved hand upon her lower jaw.

He pushed the knife into her skin,
and shook her,
shook her hard,
like a fish in a bag.