Henessey Hussey

Professor Serhiy Metenko

 FIQWS Killer Stories – Writing

 8 September 2022

From Colors To Black And White

I remember the day she died and I remember all the times I mourned her death. I remember her

favorite shows with her favorite comfort characters, her lively, vibrant personality that twinkled like the moon in the empty night sky. When she would be in the classroom with the other kids just blasting her intrusive thoughts and the kids would laugh and call her crazy. But not the kind of crazy you avoided, the kind you loved and adored.

The day replay in my head like a broken record player that can’t help but play the same tune. A tune so sweet and soft like a mother’s lullaby to her newborn child. That felt like a breeze going through your hair on a hot summer day when it’s well needed. The days that consisted of surprises and 5 seconds of joy. Like the day she was surprised with a trip to see family in another state that she barely knew. Little did she know she was going to come face to face with a psychopomp.

She spent many wonderful moments with her distant family. She got to wear makeup and her aunt’s high heels and most importantly dance in the rain. I remember how the rain danced on the ground alongside her on the pavement of the driveway in front of the garage and how the rain synced with her heart. So many happy moments, one after the other, leading up to her big day. At that point, one of her sisters had already returned home to her own mother.

She was left alone in a dark room at night, thinking of the unknowns soon to come and an odd feeling in her heart. She would later wake with unfamiliar sensations in and on her body with her mind stroked with fear and confusion. She then closed her eyes and hoped that when she woke up, it was all over. The sensations danced on her skin and skinned her alive, which would cause her to never feel comfort in the new skin she grows and plucked her eyes out so she’ll never see the true beauty she holds with all her amazing offerings. The sensations ripped her clothing for her to never find peace in what she wears. Overwhelmed her mind and shut it down to stop tranquility from traveling through her veins to her body. Lastly, the sensations burdened her heart so that every encounter with a man would remind her that the kisses he leaves on her skin could bring chaos upon her soul. The very soul the psychopomp guided through the river of damned souls that thirsts for life just like her.