Serenity (Watty finalist 2013)

The Fire Oath

Mr. Thorne’s shock eventually worn off and he took the time to examine each of the drawings. Serenity had obviously spent countless painstaking hours on them to make them as accurate as possible, for the pictures were very graphic and almost too real. Some of the frayed and older ones looked less professional and he could track her progress like a timeline by comparing the old to the new.

They certainly were not your everyday run of the mill sketches-that much was evident. It wasn’t the acute detail or the amount of time spent on them that make them so substantial, it was the subjects that caused Mr. Thorne’s momentary puzzlement. To witness them up close them would induce a fit of vomiting for the weak hearted and cause cringing for the ordinary folk. Mr. Thorne had done a double take upon seeing them and was avoiding looking at some of the more repugnant ones.

The drawing included an array of body parts, both healthy and diseased. It seemed to be some kind of catalog for diseases ranging from liver tumors to things such as foot rot or even a swollen throat.  Mr. Thorne found the sketches of pus filled growths and enlarged sores to be especially disturbing but did well to keep the disgust from his face. He lifted the next layer of her dress as casually he would flip the pages of a book he was browsing.

A single tear cascaded down Serenity’s cheek. She stared up at the wall to hide her shame at  both being molested and observed in such a crude way; it was all she could do not to burst out in sobs.

“Get off of me,” Serenity said hoarsely.

“Just one moment,” Mr. Thorne mumbled. His eyes were still glued in fascination to the pieces of art.

“I said get the hell off of me!” Serenity shouted. Mr. Thorne’s eyes snapped up at her in surprise and he stood up. Serenity gathered herself off the ground and walked solemnly up the stairs; she kept her face downcast and completely abandoned her money pouch without a second thought. She could feel Mr. Thorne’s gaze burn into her back as she walked and felt its lingering presence even after she slipped behind a door. Her skin felt violated and crawled every time she remembered Mr. Thorne’s touch; it was like she had millipedes crawling all over her body.

Her body felt foreign and tainted with filth, his filth. She wanted nothing more than to take a bathe herself in acid have her skin scraped off with sandpaper. Even the clothes she wore seemed to harbor Mr. Thorne’s scent and presence, filling her with a desire to burn and bury them. Instead she had to settle for hiding in the unfamiliar room Mr. Thorne had given her.

She walked up the stairs to her room and closed the door quietly behind her, Serenity didn’t even make it to the bed. Instead she slid onto the floor and buried her face in her hands. The hot tears poured from her red eyes and overcame her in a monsoon of emotions that ripped whimpers and sobs from her burning throat. The only way for her to stop the pitiful noises coming from her mouth was to bite down on her own hand until her teeth broke through skin. She didn’t mind the pain, it gave her something to focus on.

Serenity could have sat there with her mouth clamped down until blood soaked her sleeve from wrist to elbow but a tiny speck of white in the burning fireplace caught her eye. Even in her state of mind she recognized it. It was a fragment of her diary; earlier she had burned it because it was too dangerous to survive. Watching the diary go up in flames had both killed her emotionally and saved her physically, should Mr. Thorne had found it she would’ve been over. The less he knew about her the less power he had and the diary would have essentially signed her soul over to him. Now she knew she had made the right choice; no matter how well she hid it Mr. Thorne would’ve found it; he had already found the others.

Serenity forced her fragile body to its feet and shuffled numbly to her desk. Her shaking hands found pen and creamy clean paper. She managed to form some simple sentences that became smeared with falling tears.