Vanity Wings

    I didn’t know her that well. She was just a girl in my class. But I hated her. And I’m the only one that saw. The only one that knows.
    Her name was Vanity. Her name suited her well. She was popular- beauty can buy popularity, and beautiful she was. But she was vain, hence her name. She thought herself above all of us, and treated herself like a princess, expecting everyone to treat her like one as well.
    I was an outcast of that circle of vain tyranny and mindless slaves. I was plain and kept to myself. Admittedly, I was jealous of her: her beauty, her social status. But envy wasn’t all that I held against her: her self-centeredness and pride irked me much more. Put simply, I hated her.
    In my mind, fantasies of boys and heroism and whatever regular people dream of were scarce. Thoughts of revenge and the assassination of that pretty face danced through my head instead.
    I sat alone everyday, at school I was without friends. No one paid me any attention most of the time. Occasionally people that were attending to “Princess Vanity” would be piteous of me and beckon me to join them, or share a word with me. But Vanity would always pull them back, reeling them in with her pretty voice and flawless smile. She was the reason for my misery. I could never forgive her. Wouldn’t.
    I continued to dream up cruel schemes ending in the vain girl’s death. I was aware that these constant thoughts of bloodshed would corrupt my once innocent heart. But I didn’t care. These evil fantasies were my only comfort, the only joy I could drain from life.
    One day, as I stared intensely at my enemy, thinking cruel thoughts from my lonely corner, a flash of fleeting red caught my eye. Averting my eyes from my self-absorbed fantasy victim, I looked through the window. A beautiful crimson butterfly fluttered outside, pausing momentarily above Vanity’s head, seeming to study her, before setting off again.
    Never before had I seen such a butterfly. Its red hue was absolute, the colour of running blood, its shape graceful yet sharp. I wondered if it was a rare specimen. Taking an instant interest in the insect, I began research on the presumably atypical butterfly. But after several days of fervent research, I had come up with nothing identical to the species. Thee were quite a few red-pigmented butterflies, but none were as extraordinary or had the same striking colour. I decided to give up the search, but continued hoping that the butterfly would appear again.
    And it did. One afternoon in late autumn it returned. As people flooded out of the school, I spotted the butterfly flying at a leisurely pace above the crowd a little ways in front of me. There was little I could do to pursue it with the wave of students surrounding me, so I did my best to keep it in sight until the river of people became a trickle.
    Once I was able to move freely, I chased after the crimson butterfly, block after block, neighbourhood after neighbourhood. The thing I found odd as I walked was that it never quickened its wing beats or strayed from the sidewalk, almost like it was enticing me to follow it.
    After half an hour of pursuit, the butterfly suddenly stopped, its wings in mid-beat, lingering in the still air for a moment. Then a flash of red. I shielded my eyes in surprise.
    A scarlet-cloaked person stood in the spot the butterfly had stopped. They faced me, their face shadowed behind the deep hood. My heart felt like it would escape my chest, it was beating so hard. A whisper neither male nor female escaped the being’s lips. Its hollow voice was smooth, but sent shivers prickling though out my body. I stared wide-eyed as the stranger gave me a recap of my life and Vanity’s role in it from my point of view, but telling it from the outside. The butterfly-person whispered my secrets, whispered that it could make my nightmarish fantasies into reality. To my revelation I realized I was nodding.
    The stranger replied with a deep nod. For some strange reason time seemed to slow. During that space of time I caught a glint from their hidden eyes, and saw the corners of their mouth curl into a cold smile. Another bright flash ended my trance and the person was once again a butterfly, fluttering away.
    I collapsed to the ground and stared dumbly at the spot the being had stood just a moment before. What had just happened? Who was that? And what had it meant when… A sudden jolt ran through me and before I knew it I was up and running blindly. I was unsure of  where I was going, but my feet knew. They knew.
    Darkness had snuck up on me, and the moon shone, piercing the blackness. After a span of time that seemed like an era of running, I found myself jogging through a small orchard of trees. I didn’t stop until I stumbled upon a moon-lit glade. In the shade of the trees I watched. The sight I witnessed chilled my bones.
    Vanity was in the clearing, slumped on the ground, her arms locked in front of her, keeping her torso upright. She was breathing heavily, each gasp of breath seemed to pain her. She tried to cough once, but it just about strangled her and her arms slackened slightly.
    And on her shoulder perched a butterfly. A red butterfly.
    A deep wound in her shoulder blemished her once-perfect skin, but strangely no blood gushed from it. The butterfly balanced on the edge of the cut, its proboscis was inserted into the crack of open flesh, and it sucked not nectar, but blood. It’s small body throbbed in sync with Vanity’s dying heartbeat. Vanity rapidly blanched. In the moonlight I watched her turn white. So white. I grinned evilly, satisfied by her pain. I shouldn’t have been smiling, and I normally wouldn’t have, but my heart was corrupted and brushed away any guilt that tried depriving it of its entertainment. I was finally getting revenge; she was finally getting what she deserved.
    Then she spotted me. Her large beautiful eyes fell on me. They showed fear and they were beginning to glaze over, but I could still see a shadow of their old pride. Apparently she still had strength enough to speak, for her full lips whispered two chilling words, “You’re next.” And she smiled a thin, twisted smile before falling to a bloodless heap.
    I felt my heart stop cold as the butterfly flew up and turned to me, a demonic, yet beautiful smile on its face. The face of Vanity.
    No one knew how she died. No one knew how I died. And nobody knew why neither of us bore faces. But I know, I was there. You know now too. And I watch as you finish reading this, my mouth curling into a smile. A cold, blood-thirsty smile.

hhhhnhhhhnnh that was crreeeeppyy
  • October 25, 2010
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Quote:Originally posted by: adocad77hhhhnhhhhnnh that was crreeeeppyyhaha. i'll take that as a compliment. XD
  • October 25, 2010
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Cool story! Very fascinating! Amazingly nearly possibly true. A true halloween tale indeed, a huh (nod times infinity)! Sweet revenge. happy haunting halloween thats what its supposed 2 be I think?
  • November 3, 2010
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Quote:Originally posted by: mchll_ranaCool story! Very fascinating! Amazingly nearly possibly true. A true halloween tale indeed, a huh (nod times infinity)! Sweet revenge. happy haunting halloween thats what its supposed 2 be I think?Glad you liked it!
  • November 4, 2010
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