Knees (Part 1)
My first foray into creepiness, maybe I’ll go further with this, but writing it creeped me out. Maybe that’s a good thing?
I didn’t want to kill any of them, but I had to so they wouldn’t get hurt. I’ve seen the world and what it can do to people. I’ve seen depravity the likes of which you wouldn’t believe. The things men will do when they’re drunk and high on amphetamines and testosterone if a girl or woman is available. Or nearby and unprotected.
I tried not to notice them, not to see the fragile beauty, but I couldn’t escape it. It would haunt me deep into the night, the image of legs not old enough to shave. A scab over a previously skinned knee could bring me to tears, the ugliness of the desecrated beauty. I tried so hard not to notice them, but a scabbed knee wakes up something deep inside me that I can’t control. I see the blood and need to make sure these delicate flowers never bleed a woman’s blood.
I don’t like talking about it, so let’s talk about what a mess they’ve made of college football and the bowl games. Just make Alabama and Ohio State play an exhibition game for bragging rights and fire the damn refs turning a blind eye to personal fouls. Aren’t the refs obligated to protect the players? It’s kind of strange, really—the refs are usually these old skinny dudes who look like a second beer could take them out, and they’re protecting 300 pound linebackers who could bench press them in their sleep. But society makes sure they’re protected.
The cat is meowing at the basement door again. I guess she smells the new one, but it will pass. A fresh sprinkling of lime should do the trick. Then I can put all of this behind me and start over. My mom always said every day is a new beginning and fresh chance, but she also said same shit, different day, depending on her mood.
I’ll wait until the school bus has been gone for half an hour before I take my walk. It will be fine, and the cooler weather is coming soon. Their knees will be covered, but sometimes you can make out the outline of a scab through those thick, white tights they wear under the plaid skirts. I try not to look.
If you want to keep reading, I took it a bit further in this one:
About the Creator
Harper Lewis
I'm a weirdo nerd who’s extremely subversive. I like rocks, incense, and all kinds of witchy stuff. Intrusive rhyme bothers me.
I’m known as Dena Brown to the revenuers and pollsters.
MA English literature, College of Charleston
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The steps to losing a child
Step One: Lose a child. Not what anyone wants to happen and nothing you can do to change it, but you can go through steps to becoming happy again. You can go through steps to loving again. You can go through steps to become a new you because after losing a child you will never be the same person you once were.
By Tabitha Hinkley3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (7)
This definitely is creepy 😐 great start!
Yupp deliciously dark. This creeped me out…well done
Oh my goodness! Super creepy and eerie.
Good writing! I can understand how hard it would be to embrace the creepiness - I don't think I could do it, I couldn't write it: so kudos that you persevered!
This was fucking good. I love how the creepiness is there but love that the MC is more than just creepy. They are fleshed out, opinionated, almost normal. And that's some brilliant cracked logic about saving then from potential terrible stuff by killing them. Well done, lass. Love that you're experimenting. Love when anyone does that and you have such a strong command of leading a story and characterisation that you can turn it to different genres. Well done.
The opening paradox is so striking it left me unable to disagree with the narrator; it made me all ears. Your use of anaphora in the phrase "I've seen" beautifully mimics a sequence of lived experiences. The antithesis between beauty and ugliness really got to me because it captures a feeling I know all too well. I like how you broke the boundaries by talking about college football and bowl games. This shift into enallage made me feel your emotions; it kept me hooked and moved the story along so naturally. The grit in your mother’s contradictory advice even made me laugh out loud.
Unsettling and gripping, it creates a quiet, lingering sense of dread.