Liz and Mary: Whispers

My name is Dylan Richardson and I’m a friend of James. We are working together on several projects that I am unreasonably excited about. I also write stories sometimes, and I’m currently working on a collection set in my Whispers universe. This is an excerpt from one of those stories and I hope you like it.


 

“You get it, don’t you?”

Mary shook her head. She couldn’t take her eyes off Liz’s arm. “No,” she said, getting an exasperated sigh from Liz. “I don’t. I’m sorry, I don’t, no please don’t don’t.” Mary panicked when she saw Liz reach over to the knife in her forearm. She pulled it out of herself, inspected the wound for several moments before sliding the knife back in. Mary screamed.

“It doesn’t matter, I guess, your understanding is immaterial.” She flexed her fingers, checking her dexterity. Mary tore her eyes from the wound and tried to look at Liz’s face. It looked like she hadn’t slept in days. Her eyes had sunk back into her head, reddened with stress, but to Mary she looked bored. “The nerves don’t come back. I can’t feel it anymore. It hurt like hell when I did it at first,” she smirked. “But I can’t feel it anymore.”

Liz watched her without blinking. Mary was terrified and she couldn’t figure out why. Couldn’t she see that her arm was unharmed? She pulled the knife out again and Mary winced. Why? She dropped it on the table and put both her hands out, palms up, expectant. Mary looked down at the the hands in front of her, reached up, past the hands and grabbed the knife. She laid it in her lap and seemed to mime wiping blood off. Why? Liz knew she couldn’t bleed, the hole in her arm totally dry, the knife: spotless. Mary had seen this, she showed her, but still she asked Liz, “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

How could she ask why? Hadn’t she shown her? “Because I’m not this!” She dug her fingers into her arm, wrapped her fingers around a ream of muscle, and pulled. Mary’s face twisted into a pout before she bent and threw up next to the table. The knife fell to the floor. She held herself up in her seat as she dry heaved. Liz screamed, “I’m not this tissue and bone! I have no blood, you see? No blood! How could I be without blood, if I was this body? No, so long we’ve been here, you must have heard the same?” She dropped down next to Mary, her knees in vomit, and pushed her hair from her face. “I still hear it, even now. Truly, you must?”

Breathing heavily, Mary struggled to look at Liz in the eyes. When she pulled her eyes from the floor, she nearly screamed at the knife Liz was holding inches from her face. Staring. Mary couldn’t look away; she was sure if she did, she would get cut. “Liz, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Liz’s face warped from excitement, to confusion, to disbelief, landing on anger. How could she lie like that? Why? She reached up and cut Mary’s cheek, nearly to her mouth. Mary shrieked and jumped back, knocking over the chair and falling back. She put her hand to her face, pulled it back and saw that there was no blood on her hand, just as Liz told her, but her eyes widened just the same. “See?” Liz asked. “See? I told you! We’re not the puppets. I pull the strings! The body is meat but for the will! I pull the strings!”

Without rising from her knees, Liz stiffened her arm in front of her, the blade pointing to the floor. Mary got to her feet and backed away, unwilling to turn her back on this. Liz closed her eyes. “Even now, I know you can hear it. I can almost hear you,” she slurred. “I love you, Mary.”

Mary stopped. She wanted to run over to her, but didn’t move. “I love you too, Liz.”

Liz jammed the knife into her gut, just below her ribs. Mary screamed and ran to her.

She held the knife in place, fighting against Liz who tried to slide it all the way across her stomach. She failed. Liz looked down at her opening and saw sand pour out of her. She didn’t understand why Mary was crying. “It doesn’t hurt. It isn’t me. I’m just watching it happen…” She suddenly felt very tired and fell forward with her chin resting on Mary’s shoulder. “We’re not… this, please follow me down.” She pulled the knife out and felt the wet sand spray warm across her hand as she  tried to hand the blade to Mary, but dropped it on her knees. “I cut the strings… Follow me down?” She closed her eyes.

Mary held her, soaked in blood and covered with intestines. She started to shake and kept screaming.


 

oh and uh WARNING it’s kind of violent there’s the disclaimer ok hope you liked it

Dylan

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