Saturday, 2 May 2015

No Longer 12 (with short thing Blood & Bouquet)

This is my last post as 21 year old. That in a lot of ways doesn't mean a thing. It just means that I will never officially aged that number or combination of numbers again. I don't care, I'm at that age of not caring and not just because I'm depressed. Though, I still haven't let go of comparing myself to people doing stuff at my age that's impressive while I'm doing nothing. When I get published I'm going to go with my reading age because my mental one would be hard to calculate. I've forced myself to write something, it's dumb and insignificant.

I want you to read it with the knowledge that I curled my hair last night with curlers and my hair reflects that.

Blood & Bouquet

He gave me the flowers before saying anything. I stare at him confused and then look down at the purple, variety of flowers that I didn’t know the names of. The only smash of any other colour was minor in the form of a burgundy rose in the centre. I tried to hand him the flowers back, but he lifted his hands away.

I pulled them back to me, I examined them. They’re untypically dark for a bouquet. They’re pretty, I guess, but I still don’t want them. I separate my hands and put them to the side, still holding on to the flowers haphazardly in my right hand.

He clasps my face, I feel numb, Tomash is being so odd and now I feel odd. He slipped his tongue into my mouth, I don’t respond. It’s almost like I can’t move. Was it the flowers? He continues moving his tongue between my lips. It’s not really a kiss, more like he’s tasting me, like a lolly pop.

He bites down on my lips, hard. I flinch back from the pain. Blood dips down my lips. He pulls my head back towards him and licks the blood from my chin to my lips. He holds my head tight as he takes my bottom lips between his teeth and bites down, drawing out more blood. He lifts up to start sucking.

I scan around us with my eyes, wondering if anyone can see us. I can’t see anyone, but the edges of Tomash face blocked my view of the street. I really want this stop, but my body doesn’t feel the same urgency of my mind. I’m trying to pull away, except the signs don’t seem to be flashing.

He lets go of me, causing me to throw myself back, hitting the street lamp. I crumple down, onto the pavement. He moves away and walks down the street like nothing has happened. The pain in my back has distracted me from the blood that dripping both into my month and down my chin. I hit my spin pretty good. I’m still holding on to the flowers. I pulled them into my lap and grip onto them with both hands like a bride.

They’re still perfect, except for the drip of blood that falls onto them as I examine its petals.

I’m sitting under lamp with mouthful of blood and handful of flowers. This is not how I thought my Saturday would start.


Tomash was a name made up on the spot, because Tom was boring. I think it might actually be a Japanese last name.  I'm going driving and to make pastry.

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