Narcissus at Night

It was midnight, and the world knew it. I stare, transfixed at the wondrous creation so near completion. It is only fitting that here, in the dark womb of my house, that the final touches are finished.

The sack of flesh sits in the old, rusted chair, lifeless arms lay limp and still. Light from the solitary bulb spills vision to the room; the ghost-white skin stretches tightly over a gaunt jaw line. I move slowly towards it with a Stanley knife in hand, the blue handle fits snugly in my sweating palms. Is it fear? Excitement? Whichever it may be, the stale air reminds me of the task I must complete, the obsession that has grown roots within me. Outside, the moonless night shrieks a ghostly wail of wounded animal. It is a good sign. For a brief moment I stare into the sightless face, a mesh of organic matter that clings together almost impossibly, as if it somehow knows of the life it will soon receive.

Midnight marks the birth of a new day, and with it comes a new life, one that will be returned through ritual. I move to the mirror and stare through the dirt patches to examine my face for the last time. My free hand caresses cheeks, ears and lips, a soft puckering to enjoy the flash of white teeth. My heart is pumping hard. I prick my right thumb, a single droplet of blood escapes from the prison of man and falls freely to the floor. A faint buzz of adrenaline throws itself around my body and I wince in the briefest of pains. This is my preparation for the final stage. A stage I have looked so forward to.

I face the creation once again and look sadly upon the missing pieces. Such a form deserves perfection. I close my eye as eyelashes stick stubbornly to waxy skin. Forced open after a final mutter, I embrace myself within the vibrant black and flickered yellow of my cellar, my resting place. “This is for you” I whisper to the bloated mass that sits silently in my chair. Grabbing my left ear, I force the knife violently into the small connections between it and my head. Pain grabs and shakes me with a shrill cry that becomes my own. Resisting the urge to stop, I force down as I feel blood pumping wildly, my lips crack and I laugh and moan as lively as a court jester. Hot blood spills down my face, the red liquid combining with the colourless tears that spill uncontrollably from my eyes. Then the release, and I throw the severed ear to the floor. It looks so bizarre, almost ridiculous lying there by itself, a lonely part with no whole.

Staggering and slightly dizzy, I pick it up and move to the body. A buzzing has filled my remaining ear and I am giddy with excitement, or is that blood loss? All around me the spilled red flows freely, greedily consuming the floor as it goes. Arranging my beautiful ear, I pick up the staple gun off the lap of my creation and with one loud noise, it is now stuck.

I fall to my knees. The world is turning white, but there is one final thing I must do. Removing two old spoons from my pockets I almost whimper in sporadic panic as I plunge them into the top of my eyes and scoop down as hard as I can. My stomach convulses and I throw up hot sick all over the floor, adding to the mess. My hands spasm but this helps slightly as my eyes come free, nerves and strands ripped viciously apart. The world is dark, and I revel in the midnight hour. Dumbly, I feel for my eyes and find them.

Holding them as offering in the blackest of blacks, I feel my skin prickle and my lips pull wide as long, stubby fingers remove them from my hand…. 

Word Count : 666