I dig the knife into the tree. Slipping the blade beneath the bark ripping it up so I can see the fragile green underbelly. Over and over again peeling away the skin. What I’m doing is perhaps cruel. That knowledge is there, but there is no feeling behind it. I should feel something shouldn’t I? Regret at destroying it. Exposing it to the harsh elements of this world. Ripping away the one thing that was protecting it.
Why am I doing this? Why do I keep at it?I don’t know, but I don’t seem to want to stop. It’s something to distract me. To keep the thoughts away. These dark thoughts. I don’t even know if they are mine. They feel foreign. Like someone is whispering in my ear. Constantly telling me what to do, what to think, what to feel. And yet…they feel a little less foreign than they did yesterday. Like it was becoming a part of me.
I hadn’t been the same since they “cured” me.
“I’m going to betray you.” I had said. And I thought I should care. I don’t want this do I? But I probably won’t be able to stop myself. Eventually that whisper was going to become a scream. It would take me over. I should fight it. I should care.
She had looked at me, frozen in place. Pain tugging at her lips. Her eyes were the color of ice. “No, no you won’t.” But her voice broke. She wasn’t sure she believed it.
It was then I picked up the knife. A small little involuntary gasp left her lips and she took a quick step back. I think I shook my head and laughed as if she were being ridiculous. She was not….Ah, that’s why I’m doing this. I remember now. If I didn’t take the knife to the tree it would have sunk in somewhere else. Perhaps her pretty pink flesh.. And I think I would have regretted that, wouldn’t I?
What was happening to me? The whispering dissolved into a slow chuckle.
Authors note: I’m not entirely sure where I’m going with this one exactly. Right now these characters and stories are scattered thoughts created from my angst at current events. Perhaps one day they will come together. Feedback is always appreciated.