Euthanize me -- Beach

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Date Posted: 22:58:03 04/13/02 Sat
Author: Pandora Fallon
Subject: Euthanize me

A dimunitively sized, bantam figure sat nestled in an insignificant dark crook upon the beach, her fortress, that she slipped to on a nightly basis when the sun evanesced. She was acutely aware of the three doting individuals' presences, and therefore had concealed herself beside a cluster of aquatic bulrushes and reeds to prevent confrontation if one of the trio got the frankly egotistically suicidal idea of approaching her. The problematic altercation was that it seemed to be inhabited tonight by someone that was not her; encroached upon by vapid rubes that acidically corroded her nerves with merely being in exsistence. It was almost too frigidly gelid to take a breath that sable eve, but she lacked the awareness that the temperature was balmy and mild, and it was her own body temperature that was insufficient from anemia she suffered to her ill knowledge. Her elegantly shaped hand, just as frail and delicate as the rest of her, extends to palpate the khaki colored sand before her with listless languor, disturbed violet eyes boring forth past her indolent activity and into the perilous, tempestuous sea before her. She was so indifferent to pleasure or pain that it would cause those who had a smidget of compassion, something that she did not, great pity towards her. She would resent their sympathy and spurn them.

Her devastatingly empty, plum hued eyes were so callous and cold that one would deem that they could turn into hollow, ebony sockets, seering a white hot stare into another being's less faceted oculars. It was veritably eerie, how she could be so insensitive, so inhuman; as if a great void, the depth of a bottomless, onyx pitched chasm had been placed where so many others could seemingly access to experience emotions, but she was prohibited from trespassing on the grounds they romped over in their carefree ways. They abused the privelege of being able to feel. How she loathed them, and how she loathed herself. Everything had an odious distaste to it; nothing was worth savoring. Nothing. Her rubicon lips contorted into a bitterly twisted smile, feminine fingers grasping in an almost futile manner at the friable terra firma; closing, then unfurling. With this motion of grappling then releasing, the edaphic substance fell lethargically in sort of clumps from her from now soiled hand. She wasn't concerned with the minuscule amount of dirt now beneath her dome edged, crescent moon tipped fingernails, but more or less with the fact that in her mind, the sands of being human were dirt.

The pulchritudious girl, the picturesque, ideal image of physical perfection in the form of a female, seemed to be nothing more than a ghost as she motionlessly and broodingly sat alone in the darkness. A screaming, tormented soul, thrashing in resistance of suffocation and filled with the fear of the powers that be, was what was on the inside, perhaps not the ideal image for mentality, and certainly not emotionally. At least she would never become a obsequiously pathetic, sniveling victim. Humans were supposed to have a common affinity in the plight of life: compassion and sympathy and love, and she was incapable thus far and probably furthermore of conceiving such natural empathies. No one truly knew the dire depth that was the extent of her intricate outlook The true colors she possessed were black and blacker and uglied and cheapened by time. Her spirit - what spirit? She had no will, really, to exsist. She simply was, and that was that. She had long ago relented her grasp on the tenacity that kept many melancholy people afloat: the ability to not just fall supine and instead to fight for themselves. If they would be dragged away, they would be dragged away kicking and screaming. If she were dragged away, she would be complaisant and placid. This was how she differed from the vast majority of the population. This was why she woke up everyday and wished she hadn't.

The most novel motion she's made in what has seemed like and must have been an hour besides breathing and blinking is a transgressively slow, sultry and venomously incisive cut of her eyes towards the right, back towards the school; back to the incinerator for all the human waste inside. She had no desire to venture back into the infernal place, because the torridness of its scorching heat was too much in this detached, epically tristful epoch she had melded into. She had become immured from reality with her own deemings that tended towards morbidity; her atmospheric toned eyes vacant from her self absorbancy. She had always been a taciturn character, shrouded in an intangible veil of gloom that was perpetual there, ergo never abandoning her and leaving her defenseless. The shadows of the reflections from the ambiguous ocean cavorted gloomily over her face which appeared blanched and pallor in the lunar light offered by the controller of the tides that set high in the sky, devoted to its orbit around the decadent planet she resided upon. It made for a glorious effect. The mellow and slightly humid zephyr off of the inhospitable, steely blue brine before the feeble adolescent's silken, richly umber toned hair, the fine and dark sheet of it flucuating in a divine way in harmony with the breeze. Her extremely petite, weak form did not engage in locomotion, and instead simply imbibed her vast envirnoment. She was ambrosial, but that was only on the outside.

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