Rootless Tree

Part 2

After setting the blue ribbon that he still clutched within his one palm to the side he slowly lowered his fingers into the refreshing water, relaxing as he did. As he took his time washing away the small blood that had soiled his skin, and the vomit he had wiped from his lips he in a way felt he was also washing away Ofelia too. With each light splash of water, each scoop of it he took into his hands, his sins went with it. To him it was that simple. As easily as he had fallen in love with her he had just as quickly come to hate her. The want and long for her rinsed out of him as her essence diluted in the water. The rust colored liquid rippling slightly as he glanced at his reflection, ignoring the torment that mirrored itself back at him.

Ofelia was not the only secret Amar had hidden away and though he would never out right admit it he knew she would not be the last. This was not the first time he made empty promises to himself. The skeletons in his closet had created a private graveyard…the walking dead both crying for justice to their unjustified and the sudden end of their lives and begging someone, anyone to seek out their revenge. Yet only one could every hear their pleas. Irony victimized them even as they prayed for salvation. Though Amar’s conscience was not weighed by the comprehension of regret for his crimes as someone of sound mind would be, he was not without consequence. They haunted him, whispering their sorrows in his ears. In the deadest of silences they would find him. When he thinks he has found a moment of tranquility or peace, their vile words would snake in like an undetected poison. His mind was sickened with madness…and with every new blood that stained his hands…another voice would fill his cemetery.

“Love me.” They would mock.

“I want you Amar.” They would tease as their dead lips would press to his ear.

Haunted.

They would laugh at him as they crawled in and out of the shadows like wraiths of the night. He knew one day they would take him…take his mind, and his sanity…push his bounds until he welcomed his own dismay. He did not know why they lingered; if his want to keep them inadvertently kept them in this tormented limbo created out of his own greed and desires; destitute of life, hope and mercy.

A chill would find his spine as his body stiffened and the voice of Ofelia so soon joined the howls of the mourners, grieving for the loss of their lives; their very souls. Even death did not offer them relief, for they remained prisoners of his untamed beast. As he looked up from the bowl of water and into the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall he could see her figure standing just beyond his full vision. Amar knew better then to look at her. That would just open up a doorway he preferred to keep closed as tight as possible for as long as he could.

He took the ribbon that had once graced her sun kissed hair and wound it between his fingers. The threads caressing the spaces in between so gently, almost as if he were intertwining with her again. The soft silk reminded him of her skin and he toiled with a hair that remained entwined with the cloth; recalling just how beautiful her curls would bounce when he pulled them through his grasp. He tightened his grip as the beast in his stomach became displeased. It roared its disapproval of his thoughts. Shame rose from the pit of his belly, enough that it seemed to coat his tongue, leaving a horrid taste. He hated that he had ever loved her. That he even ALLOWED himself to have any emotional ties with her. He had obsessed over her far more than the others. She was meant to be his. He would have worshiped her; let her rule him. He had surrendered to her all he was and she had returned his love with a rejection more cruel then even his own cold heart could conjure.

He looked for comfort but knew he would find none. He held his breath forcing his heart to rattle faster, his lungs burned as they begged for air, confused as to why they were being denied something so simple yet vital. With each second to pass his fist clenched tighter to the fragile silk ribbon; harder and harder, tiny threads of the seam splitting under the pressure as the fabric was stretched to its limit. His eyes closed and his head lowered as if he were to pray to some unseen force that may alleviate his pain. Time passed and for but a moment he had his peace. That split moment in time when you push through your ruins and taste freedom. But just as quick as this moment passed so did the beast within him rage, revealing how unhappy it was with the events unfolding within the chambers.

The basin was suddenly thrown from its table before he instantaneously was across the room punching the unsuspecting mirror with his fist. He tore through his room like a storm that had days to build and grow before it released its wrath unexpectedly. He was grabbing everything within reach and tossing it like a whirl wind, flipping couches, chairs and other furniture, punching walls, curtains being ripped from their windows, he kicked everything in his path; unbridled fury fueling his every move. He was oblivious to the blood dripping from his damaged knuckles.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to feel pain. The urge was unbearable. Slamming his own back against the closest wall he pulled his dagger and hastily began rolling up his sleeve. With every fold of the fabric his bare arm exposed a countless amount of scars each a road map of his pain. He held the blade tighter, his hand unsteady as it shook until the cold steel connected with his pale skin. He hesitated, but the hesitation was as brief as his breath as he inhaled, his chest rising and falling with all his ferocity; and then finally came the sweet release. As the blood escaped its captivity, so did his misery. It ran out as fast as the bright red liquid was, leaking and dripping his torment away. As the metal scraped and broke the seal, he could almost hear the pores and fibers of his flesh pop and peel away to make way for more of the release. If Amar would feel anything, it would be pain. It was the only thing that kept him grounded and reminded him that he was still very much alive.

He cried out in a muffled whimper but it was the only way he had to bring sense back to his untamed world. As he cut deeper into his skin, his eyes rolled back and his mind began to drift away from his anger and animosity. The warm blood trickled from its wound and he closed his eyes in both pleasure and tortured agony. His mind no longer on Ofelia or the others, their voices eased into distant mumbles and then to a fading echo within his thoughts. Soon nothing but emptiness resonated within his mind.

He slid down the wall that was now supporting his full weight until his body found the floor. He opened his eyes enough to concentrate on the trail of blood that went from his forearm, tracing a path through the field of scars, all the way down to the tips of his fingers. Amar became transfixed, hypnotized by his own self-inflicted release of anguish. The room around him faded, he swayed his head from side to side almost in harmony to the rhythm he found in each little drip of blood to leave his arm and bounce off the floor. The pitter-patter reminded him of rain on the roof of the kingdom, how it sounded and brought upon the most tranquil feeling; one he clung to so many nights in hopes for just a small break from the everyday grind of his listless existence. He smiled a sick and twisted grin, as if he were listening to a beautiful melody made only for him. He began to drift off into another world - one only he could see - the one that sat right over top of his own. It was filled with horrors - such beautiful horrors. And the monsters there would lull him to sleep…

TO BE CONTINUED.....