literature

Black Forest

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MuertoMushroom's avatar
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Literature Text

She was staring down into a piece of chocolate whipped cream cherry cake when I first saw her.

If I could describe the beauty of a miserable girl, I would. But I can't, so I won't even try. Suffice it to say that this chick intrigued me from the get-go. That's not saying too much, I know, since I'm intrigued by bitches and broads every second. But the real miracle when it comes to this brunette enigma is that she kept my intrigue the whole. damn. time.

And she hasn't let go.

All I have now are flashes of feelings and a sick sense of remembered dread.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I have the panties, too, but little good that will do me since I have no clue how I got them.

It went like this:

I saw her staring into a piece of cake without eating it. I followed her outside. I asked her what her name was but she wouldn't tell me. I asked her out to dinner, coffee, anything. She handed me a flyer with some underground club's name and address on it.

"Keep it super secret." Words like a good-bye kiss.

Or was it more like a hello kiss? I couldn't tell you.

I went to this underground club and I looked for her. I knew she would be there but in the mass of people (some secret) I couldn't find her. Just as I was getting ready to leave something brushed against my back.

But not like you're thinking.

Because you're thinking it must be her. That she'd found me in that indelible crowd.

It wasn't her and I'm sorry to disappoint you.

It was something much worse than a girl with a sad, pretty face.

The thing is, I wish I could remember exactly what it was. Every time I try to call up a name or a description my memory screams and curls up into a corner, rocking and crying.

Then comes the flashing feelings.

A hard surface in a dark, dank place.

A girl's face, bloodied, smashed in. A brunette.

And somewhere else a deep, dark knot of trees. This is the one that kills me the most, because there aren't any trees for miles and miles and miles around, let alone enough to make an entire forest. I don't know if this is real or imagination. But somehow I'm pretty sure this wall of trees, this dark black forest (can something be dark black or is it just black?) is alive, and I mean conscious. On top of that, it was angry.

The next few images are back in that cellar place. Screaming. Something sharp in my arm. Rope that breaks easily. A door, the moon.

Then I wake up in my bed with a pair of women's panties covered in ink or blood or some mix of the two spelling out the words, "Keep it super secret."

These, too, I also wonder if they are a hello or a good-bye.

I forget most days about that one strange evening, that one strange girl; the fact that I came away without a scratch or a bruise.

How much of this is real, I have to wonder. Did I take something at the club and then hallucinate in the comfort of my own home? Or was it before that- was that girl, that quietly depressed girl a complete figment of my imagination?

The trees felt real; feel real.

But are they on the outside, down some back road somewhere?

Or are they on the inside?
















oh god, what have I done?
for :iconthewriters-elite: prompt contest "black forest"

Not my best, but I was trying something different (like using a male narrative, for example)

From now on I would like to be taken out of the judging for the prompt contest. I don't think this one would win it this week, but I'm just saying in future don't count me as someone who could win, please. Two features is more than enough and it kind of goes to my head :D
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tiffanycook's avatar
this is such a dark piece, and the subtle gloom throughout adds depth and character to the theme, which is portrayed wonderfully here. i love it