the present
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"the present"
part one - "she says" (by mignuna)
it’s shiny. shiny as the future itself. bright. unviolated. covered and safe.
and, like the future, the present is sitting comfortably on my bed. bound in ropes. golden-edged ribbons with a bias edge of the type that, unlike me, doesn’t fray under duress.
he smiles. i tug at its’ corner and as the ribbon uncoils i hold it up to the light. my simple delight in its’ hue does not long remain untainted by my filth. as its’ end encircles my wrist the first pangs descend on me and as i lift my gaze to meet his i understand that i hide nothing.
i covered my bed in red. (the present lies there still. its’ life will only begin when i touch it). yes, red still shows bloodstains. they go black. you make me laugh when you ask that as if it’s the only thing you don’t know.
i’m not scared of pain, lady, i’m just wondering if my blood-letting will permanently mar your two hundred dollar bedcover. (don’t worry about it. blood only ever gets on the sheets. and those are white).
the ribbon coils back around my wrist and he forgets the present. my pale arm snakes up the bedpost and his eyes never leave me as i bind it there. the golden ribbon wraps the heavy timber post. i whisper the word ‘tethered’, and the blue veins in my wrist that cast my skin with the pallor of death begin a war with my cunt for enough blood to live.
he gave me the present. (so i gave him one back). i let him see me in the kind of light most people are blind in. he rubs his eyes. clears his vision. stares and stares and stares. i tell him “bias-edged ribbon doesn’t cut skin” and i watch him choke on his own breath. he’s far too full too take in another thing.
i stretch my foot, trailing it along the length of the bed. the golden ribbon entwines my ankle, it’s inching progress a voiceless dare to catch the loose end and crucify me with my own sick desire.
the present remains between us but neither of us notice it any longer. the world is red and gold. blood and ties. even our air has a pulse now. it’s like a movie. i drip. and too late i find out that the dark impulses have learned how to scream.
