This short story is my pride and joy. It's gotten a healthy amount of good reviews and it's one of the few works that I'm fully satisfied with. Enjoy! 8D
--
Dance of the Mist
My path was long and winding. I could not tell where it would end or where it even started. It was never night nor was it day. Never exciting nor dull. It was normal. Yet, I yearned for something beyond this road. I wanted a hill to climb and then tumble down on the way to the bottom. I wanted to feel sharp pebbles beneath my feet pierce my soles. I wanted tall trees as great as skyscrapers to touch my tirelessly blue sky and hide my clouds. I wanted something more than what I was given. I wanted thrill. Unfortunately, I had no hope of such excitement. I had no extraordinary talents or relations or any unique qualities to my life at all. It was just an empty road going nowhere.
He looked homeless, like a runaway cat, though he did not look desperate for shelter. He was just there, staring at me as I left the campus and walked down the sidewalk. He was, if anything, stunningly handsome. I began to wonder if I had ever seen him before, and, more importantly, why he was looking at me.
Our paths crossed eventually. I wanted to walk past him and escape from the silent, awkward barrier that stood between us. But I didn't. I felt as if he was pulling me in like a magnet. I did not know why, but it scared me and excited me at the same time. The way his eyes bore into mine filled me to the brim with influences of passion and lust. He made three small steps closer towards me. His chest was an inch from my own and the top of my head only reached to the bridge of his nose. A short, staggered, irregular inhale of warm air passed through my lips only short seconds before the shocking impact he lured me into like a trap.
He pulled me into his arms.
"You are gorgeous."
That was a lie. I knew it was. I wasn't gorgeous, I was average. There was nothing so uniquely gorgeous about me that he needed to speak of and I wasn't being modest. But his voice was like the sweet twittering of a choir of birds. It was the most beautiful lie I ever heard.
He eventually left, but without a word of goodbye, or even any information about himself. My knees shook like wobbly branches being tossed about in a gust. It was discomforting, but it felt incredible.
It didn't occur to me till later that night while I fidgeted with the sheets of my bed that I might never see him again. I started to cry warm, unfathomable tears that soaked my face and rolled onto my pillow. The mere thought of him made me restless and insecure. I couldn't bear for something like that to happen. I went to school the next day and did not talk to anyone. Time crawled so slowly that I became frustrated. I felt such an impulse coursing through my body to see him again, that I could barely restrain myself from sprinting out of school.
He was standing in the same spot he was standing in the day before. This time it looked as if he was waiting for me. No one else. Just me. The idea deeply satisfied me after all those long hours of torturous anxiety and worry. I did not wait for him to approach me. I flew into his already open arms with my heart punching my chest like a broken metronome. He stroked my hair and kissed the top of my head. These gestures of affection, so small yet so sweet, made me shudder in happiness.
The day I met him, the scenery around my path began to alter itself. A mist floated about, wispy yet thick. It gave me contentment that something different was finally happening, but I still couldn't brush away the mixed emotions that kept engulfing me whenever I looked at the fog at my feet. It confused me, but I didn't want it to go away.
We saw each other after school every day from then on. I assumed he was a dropout since he never said anything about classes. In fact, he didn't tell me anything about himself. He would only talk about me, about how amazing he thought I was. If he wasn't talking about me, he was kissing me and holding me close. I drank it all in like a delicious feast that kept coming back only to please and care for me. The only thing he ever told me about himself was his name.
"Nicholas. But what should it matter? I don't care who I am as long as you'll stay around."
He said things like that a lot - corny things that could make a person puke kittens. Though, to me at the time, it was refreshingly romantic.
One day, he brought me to the mall after school. He brought me to a store I had never visited before. He put a dress into my hands and implored for me to try it on. I did as he said. When I came out of the dressing room, he smiled at me sweetly.
"You look absolutely beautiful," he said softly, wrapping his arms around my waist as I looked at myself in the mirror.
I have to admit the dress did look nice on me, though I usually wasn't a big fan of cutesy dresses with bright colors and patterns. Before he left that day, he asked for me to wear the dress as much as I possibly could. I agreed, and he disappeared once again. I went home on Cloud 9 and went to my parents, twirling around in my new clothes. My father was sitting at the dinner table and my mother was in the kitchen.
"What do you think?" I asked my mother eagerly.
She looked away from the dishes to me and gasped. "Marie, what in heaven's name are you wearing?"
"I bought it at the mall today," I said. "Why?"
"Marie, I do not want you wearing that dress anymore. Return it first thing tomorrow."
"What's wrong with it?" I was confused.
"Are you blind? Look at yourself, Marie!"
"What's wrong?" My father had gotten up from the table and entered the kitchen. He looked at me, and his eyes widened. "Marie, where did you get that dress?"
"What's wrong with it?" I yelled angrily. "Nicholas told me it looked fine!"
"Who's Nicholas?" my father asked.
I paused. Was it alright to call him my boyfriend? It had never really been fully established between the two of us directly, but by the way we were going about made it seem like it was that kind of relationship.
"Nicholas is my boyfriend."
My father raised his voice. "Boyfriend?"
"When did this happen?" my mother asked.
"I met him a few weeks ago," I explained. "You'd like him, though. He's really nice and sweet and he always says all these kind things about me and - "
"Sweetie, I don't care if Nicholas is the prince of France. You are not allowed to wear that dress anymore." Then my mother turned her back on me to finish washing the dishes. "You are going to return that dress and you will not wear it again."
I opened my mouth to protest but my father interrupted.
"And I want to meet this Nicholas. Invite him over to dinner immediately."
"Fine! Whatever!" I stomped out of the kitchen, up the staircase, and into my room.
I jumped into my bed and smothered my face with the bed sheets to calm myself a bit. I reached around for the phone on my nightstand only to realize that Nicholas had never given me his phone number. I sighed and lied there on my bed with my eyes closed. I soon fell asleep.
I had a dream before Mom woke me up for dinner. I was in my dress in a ballroom full of strangers wearing masks who looked down upon me with faces that suggested that they had smelled something rotten. The music started and the strangers danced in time to the slowly-paced rhythm. Every one of them danced in circles around me whispering treacherous words in my ear as they passed. "Outcast!" "Freak!" "Garbage!" I covered my ears, but they soon began to yell. "Pathetic!" "Disgraceful!" "Liar!" My legs failed me and I crumbled onto the ballroom floor with heavy sobs. Why were they saying these things? What did I do? Why were they being so harsh?
When my mother woke me up, I found that I had forgotten to take off my dress. I looked down at it, perplexed. What was wrong with it?
Why couldn't I see?
--
The next day, I met Nicholas at the mall as he had instructed me the day before. I was wearing the dress obediently, much to his delight.
"You really do look beautiful," he said, his voice soothing and musical.
"Are you sure?" I asked nervously.
"Of course I'm sure." He looked at me with more intent. "Why? What's wrong?"
I hesitated. "My. . . My parents want me to return it."
"Why?"
"They don't think it's appropriate."
He shook his head. "Don't listen to them. They're probably just choked up about how pretty and grown up you look or something like that."
It was a lie. A really bad lie, but I nodded as if it were an involuntary reflex. He leaned in and kissed my cheek.
"Trust me. You look amazing."
And so I did. We went back to the store we had been in the day before and he bought me a necklace and some shoes. He insisted that the accessories along with the dress made me look even prettier than before. And I believed him. Somehow the whole trip was a blur to me. All I remember was nodding and agreeing with him while the rest of me was lost in his voice.
Before he departed, I told him what my father had asked of me and he immediately declined.
"I'm sorry, Marie, but I can't."
"Why not?"
He didn't answer. Instead he locked our lips into a passionate kiss, broke away, and left. I let him go.
I changed before I went home so my parents wouldn't know that I hadn't returned the dress. I came home and my mother asked me about Nicholas. I thought of a quick escape.
"We broke up. I won't be seeing him again," I lied.
"I'm sorry, honey," Mom said, "but maybe it was for the best."
She smiled as if saying, "It'll be better from here on out. Trust me." But how could I trust her if she was going to be so nonchalant about me breaking up with a boy? She went back into the living room while I hurried into my bedroom. I put on the dress again, the necklace, and the shoes, and danced around my room in a silly sort of glee. It felt lighthearted, as if I was a child again.
I fell asleep in my bed from exhaustion and had another dream.
This time I was wearing the items that I had bought that morning. The people around me were still wearing masks, and they were still stinging me with their ruthless remarks. I pushed through them frantically and finally bumped into someone who wasn't wearing a mask. It was Nicholas. He wasn't smiling, though. It almost seemed like he was angry with me. "Please smile, Nicholas," I thought aloud. "You're scaring me."
"Marie. . ." His voice wasn't as soft as before; it was hollow and emotionless. My fear grew as he spoke louder and more clearly. "Marie, what are you going to do?"
"What do you mean?"
"Do you hear what they are saying to you?"
"Yes, I do."
"What are you going to do?"
"What can I do? I'm scared, Nicholas."
"You know what to do."
Like the time before, my mother woke me up. She looked furious.
"Marie Josephine Scribsome!" she shouted. "I thought I told you to get rid of that dress! And now look at you! You look worse than before!"
"What's wrong with how I look?" I yelled.
"You look like garbage! It's disgraceful!"
I felt my temper rising.
"I thought you broke up with that boy!" she said.
"I did!"
"Then where did you get the necklace and the shoes?"
"I got them by myself, Mom!"
"You're grounded until you get rid of all of it! Do you understand me?"
"NO!" I screeched. "I don't understand any of it! Just leave me alone!"
I buried my face in my pillow and cried heavily. My mother left, slamming the door behind her.
--
My cell phone rang the next day. The caller ID said, "Unknown Number," but I answered anyway.
"Hello?"
"Marie?"
My heart fluttered within me. "Nicholas! How did you get my number?"
"Why should it matter? I'm just glad I got it. Anyway, why didn't you meet me today?"
"I'm grounded."
"Huh? Why?"
I told him all about what Mom had said to me in a fury that I had never felt before. I felt tired when I was finished and my throat was sore.
"That's not fair! Who are they to tell you how you should dress yourself? You're not in kindergarten anymore!"
"I know, right? It sucks."
"Are you going to see me tomorrow after school?"
"But what about - "
"Who's going to know? They didn't know until you told them, right?"
" . . . Okay, I'll see you there."
"Great. I love you."
"I love you too."
I love you. . .
--
I was in the ballroom again that night. The chandelier seemed brighter than it had been before, but with a red and ominous glow that tinted the dancers' every movement and step. I was at Nicholas's feet with my face in my hands as I cried loudly. "Make them stop! Make them stop talking!"
"Get up," he said sternly.
I did.
"Do you like what they are saying?" he asked.
I shook my head.
"Are you going to let them get away with it?"
"What can I do?"
He grabbed me around the waist and pulled me in so that my head was resting on his collarbone. He lifted my head up and covered my face in soft, slow kisses that felt warm and gentle to the touch. He looked into my eyes.
"You know what to do."
--
I met him after school that day as planned. He didn't say hello or even move until I was close enough for him to hold me tightly in his arms. I wanted to ask why he was acting the way he was, I wanted to tell him about the dreams I was having, I wanted to tell him how much the dreams scared me. . .
But it was as if my lips were sewn shut.
He turned me around suddenly and my back pressed into his chest. He brushed the hair away from ear and whispered to me. It was not the voice that he usually used to sweep me off my feet, and it was not the one I heard in the ballroom that startled me so abruptly. It was a strange mixture of both like two songs flying around each other in a strong frenzy, and the sound of it made my adrenaline rush.
"My sweet Marie. . . You have listened to every word I have ever spoken to you. . . You have loved me with every beat of your heart. . . You have been pure and obedient. . . But what have your parents said?"
My parents. . . Yes. . . They treated me like I wasn't even their daughter. They thought I was disgusting. They treated me horribly.
"They cannot accept that we are in love. . . They cannot accept that you want to be different from what they have raised you to be. . . They want to keep you caged in your home so that we cannot be together anymore."
They can't tell me what to do. They can't imprison me forever!
"They are weak. They are wrong. They have no right to tell you what to do anymore. But something must be done in order for them to cease. . . Something only you can do. . ."
He slipped something smooth into my hand and whispered one last thing.
"You know what to do."
He vanished.
--
I came home that day with Nicholas's words buzzing around in my mind until my head felt like it was going burst open. I ignored my parents' words of greetings and kindness and went into my room. Why should they care? I was at home where they wanted me. They were taunting me with their innocent smiles. They were hurting me with their concealed torture.
I threw my books onto the ground with such force that it made the ground tremble. I changed into the dress that Nicholas had given me along with the necklace and the shoes. I walked down the staircase slowly, letting his words sink in until they were practically printed on my skin.
They cannot accept. . .
They were the weak ones, to cling to their daughter so cruelly. They were suffocating me. I'd be happy if it weren't for them. Why could they not accept my happiness? My body was quivering, but I felt ecstatic. Nicholas was going to be so pleased with me. I could already feel his lips pressed against mine in satisfaction. I could hear what he would say to me in that voice that tolled like small sleigh bells in the winter snow.
Excellent, Marie. I love you so much. . .
The stairs creaked, announcing my entrance onto the first floor of the abode I might have been forbidden from leaving. I smiled, feeling the blade slide through my fingers.
I love you too, Nicholas.
CRASH!
"MARIE! STOP!"
This is how much I love you, Nicholas.
"STOP IT, MARIE!"
I promise I'll never complain about them to you again, Nicholas.
"PUT IT DOWN, MARIE! PUT IT DOWN!"
I'll make sure they never say another cross word to me again.
"MARIE!"
--
I pulled out the bloody knife, its handle rough and firm, and rolled it around in my hand. The red fluid spread across my fingers in tiny streams of scarlet.
It was exhilarating.
I laughed. Nicholas would be so proud.
I looked back down at my mother as she took in her last sharp breathes. She looked up at me with difficulty at which I smiled upon. This is what happens when you cannot take in what is reality, Mother. Do you feel regret? Do you feel guilt? She inhaled one last time and exhaled three words as the red liquid flowed from her lips.
"I love you."
And then the fog lifted.
My mind spun in a wrath of confusion. The road I was traveling upon, the ballroom in which I danced with vivaciousness as I cut off their lives with no remorse, Nicholas who watched as I gracefully skipped around destructive decisions, my parents who looked at me with horrified shock as I lifted the shining blade over my head, the clothes I wore to that celebration of ignorant bliss. . .
The knife fell from my hands and onto the floor with a large echoing noise that still rung in my ears long after it had stopped shuddering on the tile. I got up from the ground and ran to the mirror across the room.
The dress was black with blood splattered all the way around my waist and the skirt was frayed like strips of used rags. The shoes were ebony ballet flats that were covered in small holes. The necklace was a red heart that shone in only a way that the blood on my hands could gleam.
"Excellent, Marie. I love you so much."
I jumped and turned around. Nicholas stood before me with a smile that exposed the menacing tone he had employed to speak to me. I fell back onto the floor, covering my shaking body as best I could.
"No. . . Go away. . . Please, go away. . ."
But he only walked closer.
"What's wrong, Marie? You did exactly as I said, and I'm very grateful that you did. Now we can be together forever."
I shook my head furiously. "No. . . Never. . . Don't come near me, please. . ."
He kneeled before me and forced my hands away from my face. He planted a fierce kiss on my lips that made me choke. I put my fingers to my lips and wiped away the blood that spattered from my mouth. Nicholas wrapped his arms around me in an embrace that made me feel small and inferior to him.
"Together forever."
My mouth went into a flurry of words that I could not seem to control.
"But now they are dead, wherefore should I fast? Can I bring them back again? I shall go back to them. . . BUT THEY SHALL NOT RETURN TO ME!"
Nicholas cackled.
--
Sofia Knitters sighed and put down the report of Marie Scribsome on her desk. She took off her glasses and massaged her temples.
What was there left to investigate? The girl was obviously mentally ill. What caused such an illness, no one could say. Peers and family members confirm that she was perfectly fine before. What in seven hells could have caused her to kill her own parents who, from what relatives said, were not in the least bit unpleasant towards their daughter?
Marie was being sent to a mental institution. At the time being, it was pointless to put her in jail or give her the death sentence since she would eventually die of heart disease (which was just as abrupt as the mental illness).
The only clues that Marie had given to the authorities was a Bible verse that she would not stop repeating and had been rearranged to fit her situation and a boy's name whom she claimed to never leave her no matter what she says or does. The only plausible conclusion they could come to was that she restrained something in herself for so long that it started to affect both her mental and physical state.
Detective Knitters left her office and locked the door behind her with the papers still set upon her desk.
--
Love is blind.
So watch your step.
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