Twisted Peace
Jet black ink pools on the neon-lit subway floor. It flows around white Adidas sneakers, denim jeans, yet never stains them. Everyone else is oblivious to this black flood, besides her.
She kneels down and dips a delicate hand in the ink. The dark liquid drips down the side of her hand, a stark contrast to her pale skin. As the liquid drips, it leaves no remaining residue on her hand. A curious thing, she wonders.
She follows the puddles off the train into a dark but crowded station. The stains continue to defy gravity, flowing uphill, around people, with no destination in sight. She continues to let the puddles lead her way.
As she watches, the ink rises up in front of her, engulfing those in its path. She should be scared. She should run away from this atramentous fluid. Instead, she feels an inclination to never let go of it, to keep it as her own.
The obsidian ink leads her to a beige house with parts of its exterior scraped off, revealing the scabrous wood layer underneath. The house creaks in the howling wind, and the poles sway violently. The fluid seeps into the cracks in the dwelling, filling the building with twisting black snakes.
She steps onto her own front porch. She grasps the handle of the door to her worn out house, ignoring the ink calling for her attention.
The door flies open. Inside her room is a crowd of people, all wearing nothing but the jet black substance dripping down the length of their whole body.
She recognizes these people. Her boyfriends, her family, everyone she had once loved. Everyone who had denied her the contentment she was seeking, who had clung on to her pointlessly.
“You pushed us away,” voices hiss in unison. “You took our hearts and shattered it on a glass floor. You promised all of us your love and left us all empty.”
She feels a wave of guilt wash over her, but it vanishes just as fast as it had come.
The ink looms over her.
A strange, cold calmness fills her. “It was never me. It was you all along, for believing me. For expecting warmth that I never promised to give.”
With that, the ink swallows her, and she falls onto the tiled floor. As darkness closes over her, she doesn’t scream, doesn’t weep. A serene smile sweeps over her lips. Let them drown in their own broken hearts – she was falling asleep in untouchable peace.