Knives Make Lives

1.) Male

Chapter One

 

Niaomi was always thankful to wake early, and today was no exception. Sleep held no peace for her, filled as it was with dreams of darkness and despair. It was, indeed, no better than reality - worse, in fact. When she was awake, she had the ability to shut out her problems. But the knife was never with her dreamself.

She slowly slipped out from under the dark covers, reluctant to disturb the other person resting in her bed. His face was as innocent as it was awake, wispy curls just like her own gently caressing the cherubic cheeks. Niaomi resisted the urge to stroke them herself and walked to her dresser, taking care to avoid the areas where the carpeted floor boards would creak. Her true fear was not in waking the sleeping child, but the two who no doubt rested downstairs.

Quietly opening her drawer, she selected a plain black shirt with the customary long sleeves and a pair of slightly ripped blue jeans that would barely show any skin. From the second drawer she pulled out her underwear and socks, quickly getting dressed where she stood before moving back to her bed.

The clock on her nightstand read half past four, which meant Niaomi had plenty of time to herself. She dropped to her knees and stretched out her arm, smiling wryly as pain blossomed from her wrist at the movement. Ignoring the slight discomfort, she continued to search underneath the bed until her fingers latched on a cloth strap. Niaomi tugged the satchel out from the depths where she hid it each night, unbuckling the straps that sealed it to withdraw one of her most precious items: the notebook.

She leaned back against the edge of the mattress and opened her beloved book. Notes and words flipped past until she landed on a clean sheet, with an ink pen wedged between the pages. Slowly, Niaomi picked it up and with a soft click pressed ballpoint to paper. The blankness steadily grew full, the song she’d made the night before transferred from her memory into the notebook by hand. She did not hesitate once in recalling the series of chords nor the various other lines.

Once Niaomi was done transcribing the song, she tucked the notebook away and picked the small iPod nano up from off the floor where it had fallen as she’d risen. The iPod was a first generation, more than a decade old (though only slightly battered), and the sole item she owned that was pink. Stroking the now faded color, Niaomi was taken back to the time when she first received it as a gift from Grandma Holly. Those had been happier times. When her grandmother was still alive, and when her mom was still around, and when her brother - the boy asleep on her bed now - was still unaware.

Those were happy times, weren’t they? Poor, poor Nia; she doesn’t have them anymore. Doesn’t have anyone anymore.

Her teeth ground together. They’d returned. It had been a while since she’d heard the voices, so long that Niaomi had dared to hope that they had somehow been dispelled forever. That her mind was once again her own.

The same voice spoke again, the tone cool and malicious but somehow remaining ungendered. Now, why would you wish us gone, dearest Niaomi? Bastion and I are only here because of you. Because it’s better to have us than to have no one. And everyone else is gone.

That wasn’t true - Niaomi refused to believe it. You’re wrong, Miasma. Sammy isn’t gone.

Miasma was arrogantly cold in its reply, snickering at the warble in Niaomi’s mental voice. You mean young, innocent, unknowing Samuel? What does he know about your pain? About your knife? Yet another present from your dearly departed grandmother. She could almost hear the grin in its voice. Now wouldn’t she be simply delighted to find out what you’ve been using it for.