my horror stories!

Purgatory

Where was I? Who was I? I can't remember. Why can't I remember? Whats wrong with me?

All of my questions faded into my subconscious as i heard singing. A soft tune danced with a heavy air as it caressed my ears. Who was singing? Why were they singing?

My feet moved of their own accord, as if they had a life of their own. Wandering into the dimly lit alleyway i seemed to be in, wondering where she was. Her voice was soft as silk, but her tune was sad, a crescendo of despair cascading down the narrow opening in front of me, endearing to all who is blessed by such a melancholic consonance.

It was breathtaking, enrapturing. I needed to hear it, revel within it. I must be close to it, to her.

I could hear a soft tap-tapping as my heels capered with the wet concrete below. When did it rain? I laughed softly at the thought. All my thought seemed to have left me, as well as my memory, though, who could blame me? A sweet young lady such as myself surely cant be held responsible? It would be blasphemy to believe that someone of my position and wealth could be wrong in any way?

I froze, why did that thought come to me? Surely that is not how i think. Surely i cannot be so selfish as to use my sex and innocence to my advantage? But if that was the case, why did i fear my words? It was almost as if they were though vile cud of a woman who heed no attention to consequences, a woman who believed that a female should be doted on as they were too weak to do anything of the implied just now?

The voice has stopped. When did it stop? Why did it stop?

I picked up my skirts and feebly wandered  out into the street. I light overhead flickered as people bustled about, even in the dark of the night. A market lie ahead of me, fruits and cakes, silks and stationary alike where being packed into wagons  for safe keeping. Children and adults where huddled in shop doorways, cold, hungry, tired.

Cautiously making my way over to the nearest stall, I asked a gentleman where I was, stressing that it was of the utmost importance that i find out as to get home rather quickly before mother and father become angry. I don't like it when they get angry. He didn't respond to me, he acted as if i wasn't even there so i requested his assistance slightly louder, my voice involuntarily rising an octave or two in panic when the voice returned. Calming and free.

No, this want the same voice, it was much too young.

To my left an older lady cradled a baby as it sung a broken lullaby, looking up to me with a smile, brandishing her child to me. It wasn't hers. It wasn't alive.

What was going on? Where was i? Who was i?

i retreated a few steps in fear, why is this happening? was mother punishing me again? It wasnt my fault, its just that the young lady was so pretty i just had to talk to her. Why was that so bad?Why didn't mama want me to speak to the pretty lady? Talking was not a sin, so why was i being punished?

Mama said it was the way i looked at her. She claimed the fondness that swirled within my green eyes were not of a platonic nature. I haven't the faintest of ideas as to what she is referring to, but surely if it she sets my heart aflutter, it cannot be a sin?

Mama digresses. Mama always digresses. Why cant she love and accept me? I just want to make her proud. Why was that such a hard task to accomplish?

I ran as fast as i could away from  the market, the children. Away from the woman with the stolen baby. The stoned pavements soon withered to dirt, followed by water where i collapsed in desperation. My eyes closed, my heart pounded relentlessly withing my chest...

Why couldn't i feel my heart beating?

A young lady with forest green eyes, long brown hair and the saddest expression greeted my open eyes. My head span as i looked into the sky, the perfectly silver moon bore into my jaded eyes. Where was the girl? Why did she leave me alone? My unsteady gaze fell to the water surrounding my kneeling form as i stared into the water and the lady stared back at me. The lady was my reflection, i was the lady.

Upon further inspection i came to realise that my once baby blue dress was tainted to a crimson red. It was spread around the left side of my bosom, my heart had been carved out. Could this be the reason my mother did not love me? Why my father barely acknowledged my existence?

I let out a cry of anguish, a chained cacophony relentlessly  through the rippling sky.

A lady was humming a tune. Pop goes the weasel? why was she playing that tune and humming? why was she staring directly into my eyes? Why did she look excited to finish?

Pop goes the weasel.

She was coming closer. The sound demonic and foreboding as her voice dropped an octave.

Her stained ,gloved hand  grabbed me by my arm, leading me away. Leading me to a graveyard. Why?

Oh.

That's why.

i saw a young lady, the lady from the market. The pretty one my mother hated. She appeared to be weeping upon an upturned mound of earth, a sorrowful song leaving her delicate throat. Her blonde hair was unkempt, her pretty face dirty, her deep brown eyes stained with tears.

Her shaking hands lowered a singular red rose to the floor in front of a gravestone.The only offering to the recently deceased.She seemed to be the only visitor. The only witness to the truth behind the story.

Her melody seemed to be reaching its climax, notes more powerful and longing. Her shaky hands raising, reflecting the moonlight.

A final note drove her fate into her chest, a tear completing her story, a single crimson line gliding down her silver instrument, the tip creating a wildfire of blood, spreading hungrily across her white bodice, darkening the pink outlines as more rivulets of her human blood as her body cradles the gravestone.My gravestone.

Together, we shall be together again, mama was right about my feeling but to hell with mama. My entrapment within the land of the living and the land of the dead shall not be alone.

We shall be together again.