Her skull crumbled under the pressure of my fingertips. Her skin seemed discolored: dark purple, black and with a subtle, almost hidden, trace of yellow near her left eye. The colors reminding me of a withering pansy surrounded by a sea of night dahlias. The deep red color spread so far and wide that the floor underneath us had almost disappeared, and as the sea broadened and connected itself with the puddles and dragging marks, which stained the floor, I wondered if I was one drowning. Wheezing as if I could hardly breathe, I looked down at my creation.
My arms ached and trembled, a burning sensation still lingered in the violent scratch marks that covered my skin. Carefully my left hand rose from the floor and placed itself onto her cheek, gently caressing the broken bone, skin and the exposed underlying tissue. Shallow sockets stared back at me. Her mouth was open in an expression of either lust or despair; I could not distinguish between the two. The shape and fullness of her lips reminded me of moaning and of screaming, of the closest form of human contact, of exploring skin and discovering the hidden truths of the inside. I had exposed her, degraded her to something less than human and yet almost godlike. She was unrecognizable, her canvas smeared with color, sculpted by hands and a foreign blade of metal. My eyes filled with tears, and my vision became blurry. It was excruciating to look at the wonder, which lay before me. She was beautiful.
This week, I wanted to try something a little different. The text above is an excerpt from the book I am currently working on. I hope you enjoy it!
Original photo: Ben Grantham