playing god. sing siblings.
Jan 28, 2018 17:33:24 GMT -5
Post by ✨ zozo. on Jan 28, 2018 17:33:24 GMT -5
b e l l e ;I'm living with the devil.
He exists inside my brothers and makes them do horrible, unspeakable things. He slides down my throat and forces up the contents of my stomach at every thought of them and their wicked, disgusting, repugnant actions. Porcelain and bleach, our bathroom tiles are cool against my feverish skin, I think he's in me too.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs. Instead I lie awake in the dark, hear the faint sound of the back door opening and closing, cover my mouth and sob into the darkness. I think I haven't said a word in three days and Mom and Dad don't care enough to notice. Perhaps they like the silence.
I don't. It carves me up inside.
But I don't know how to speak about what I saw them doing without damning them - hell, maybe they've damned themselves. I hate what they've done and I hate what they're doing, vertigo, I stand on my moral high ground and they dig deeper and deeper into the dirt. It's dizzying up here, I fall - porcelain bowls, I'm throwing up in the bathroom sink again.
I don't hate them. I could never hate my brothers, not even Andy. I knew he had a darkness in him but I still stayed, clung to his hand when I was small, pulled Vati up when I'd stopped crying over things that didn't matter. I love my brothers and I'd die before I shut them out but their secrets are my secrets and they're killing me slowly, I wonder if they even care. Vati might. Andy wouldn't.
I still sit with them at breakfast, eyes digging for details. Dirt underneath fingernails or tired eyes - nothing. Maybe I dreamed up the whole thing. Maybe the devil's in me instead and he's turning me against my own blood and kin. I inhale, day four of no words and I'm sick of staying silent.
"You're disgusting," I tremble, terrified of the sound of my own voice. "Both of you."
I can't look at them, mirror-images of each other. I think I'm scared I'll see myself in their eyes.
"I know what you're doing and..."
My insides lurch, acid bile in the back of my throat, I might vomit before I can finish. Fingers curl around my spoon and I'm glaring at my half eaten breakfast - as if orange juice could drown out what I'd seen.
I kind of wish it could drown me instead.
"Why?"
The dead can't talk, but I can.this is the last second chance
i'll point you to the mirror
without a hint of regret
i'll hold you to it