His heavy corpse clings to her back like an undesirable cloak. His rotting flesh melting into her pores, moulding itself to her structure. She used to be able to peel his skin away with her finger tips but now she must use a pair of blunt scissors she carries in her purse. She need only leave it an hour after flaying his blackening tissue from her own, and his body has already begun merging itself with hers again.
It’s the smell that gets to her most. Being cocooned in a cloud of rotting meat can make one feel quite mad. She’ll catch a glimpse of him sometimes, in the mirror. She’ll see his gaunt face appear as if resting atop her shoulders, almost cradling neatly into her neck. The sockets that once encased his big brown eyes are now empty with trails of anorexic veins pouring out from them and onto his cheeks. His mouth never closes, forever will his jaw hang open. If she looks closely enough she can see the bones in the jaw on the inside of his mouth that were violently torn apart from one another. He has no tongue. They dealt with that well.
His hair still retains a chestnut hue, yet big clumps are missing and maggots have begun to feed away at the festering patches of skin. They have managed to permeate the skin with their tiny little fangs and will soon reach his fetid brain.
He groans in her ear at night whilst she tries to sleep. She can feel his cold breath etching its way up from her neck to her ears. He never speaks. He only laments the most guttural sounds of great distress. She knew at the time that what she and her friends were doing was risky and could get them in prison, but now prison sounds like paradise compared to the hell she’s living in now.
She did love the boy once. With every inch of her body. Just the thought of him would
have her stomach over crowded with butterflies. Whenever he would call her name, brush his hand against hers or simply smile at her, she felt completely faint from giddiness.
The boy loved her too, in his own way. He could be kind, but he could also be cruel. One day the boy began kicking her after she was crying too loudly after an argument they had had. Other days he would ignore her and taunt himself flirting overtly with other women in front of her face. He drove the girl quite mad, but nonetheless, she still loved him.
One day, he left her. The boy broke up with her at his house, said he couldn’t be in a relationship anymore and that it was all too much for him. When the girl declined the breakup, he screamed a tirade of vulgar words into her frightened face about how much of a bad girlfriend she had been to him. He spat out his last insult and then left her to weep into his pillow.
Once she had howled out all of the built up hurt, the girl’s despair soon turned into a red hot rage. That rage was then transferred to her friends after she told them of all of the savage things he would do and say to her whilst they’d been together. Secrets she’d been keeping for the sheer embarrassment it caused her. In detail she described the wicked ways in which he would torment and abuse her. Thus a plan was formed.
They were to spike the boy’s drink whilst he was at the club and would take him back to whoever’s house was free that night. Once there, they would pluck out three strands of his hair, a clipping of a finger nail, a tear from the tear duct of his right eye and spittle from his tongue. The plan was set afoot after the three friends found a youtube video on how to create your own voodoo doll for anyone you wished to taunt. Simple, they all thought.
Yet he woke up far sooner than expected. The moment the three of them lay his heavy body on the carpet of one of their living rooms, he began murmuring and his eyelids started twitching beneath the scarf they had tied around his head. The girls stood over him in a circle and watched in silence as their plan unfolded. He started wriggling and writhing so much that the movement caused his blindfold to fall down from his eyes. Quick grab him! One of the girl’s friends shouted to the other, and so he was grabbed. By his scalp. She yanked his head, hard, back to the ground. Blood started to seep into her nails. His fists started pounding the floor beneath him. He’s going to scream! He’s going to scream! Shouted one of them. The girl who had been holding down his head jumped up and landed both feet onto one of the boys arms. Her friend followed suit.
I see you, you witches! God as my witness I will kill you for this! He bellows into the face of his ex lover, who was now standing with legs either side of his torso. Smirking. Why would he say that he had seen them?
She pulls out a pair of rusty scissors from her back pocket and lunges for the boy’s face. She rams the tip of the blades into the centre of his pupils, stabbing them over and over. The boy wails a cry so painful she flinches and stops what she’s doing. She looks up at the other girls, for a sign of what to do next. They’re both looking right back into her eyes, giggling. So she continues her tyranny of pain in the left eye. The mutilation of the boy has begun, and now the girls have tasted blood, it’s impossible for them to stop.
His screaming is little deterred by the lack of sight, so with the same scissors the girl tears into his tongue, the blunt blade doing its best to shred through his gammy muscle – a muscle that threw so many heinous insults her way. The boy starts choking on the blood that’s gushing out of his tongue and clogging up his airways. And all the girls can do is cry with laughter.
An hour goes by, and the boy’s body is blackened and blue. What once was a vessel for a mind that yearned for life, now a mere carcass with hanging entrails from all its crevices.
Swiftly and composed, the girls dispose of the body in the nearby river and clean themselves off.
That night they all sleep soundly in their warm beds, the scent of copper on all of them simply acting as an aid to their deep slumber.
It’s only when she wakes does the girl have the sense of regret. For she can already feel his soul that is now burning down on her. She recognises the anger that now sits upon her shoulders – and it shall sit there until the day she dies.
Credit: Amy Foss-Clark
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