Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Snapped ❯ Chapter 1

It took something out of me, the day I saw him last. He was dressed in a suit so clean and white that he looked like an angel, but the shadows of bruises and pearly remnants of scrapes on my back prove that as false. The blond hair curled charmingly around his face and framed his laughing eyes. Every inch of him was perfect, but none of that caught my attention. His right sleeve hung limply, and where there should have been an arm there was just loose fabric.

I distinctly remember the exact snapping noise it made, and the squelchy rips that succeeded the telltale crack. I remember the brilliant wet life that gushed out scarlet. It spurted in a rhythm. Gush trickle, (then a breath) gush trickle, (another breath) gush trickle. The white bone had stuck out from all of this like a rough toothed knife, and a darker red dripped out slowly from the middle of the bone, with small chunks falling with it. Then he fell again, and a few more resounding cracks echoed off the thin, flimsy walls that we lived in. His pale face was nowhere near as white as the glaringly white bones that were sticking out from his arm all haphazardly. I laughed at him, long and loud while he was crying, the poor baby. But when I glanced again at all those bones, I couldn't help but laugh again.

“Don't you only have one bone in your upper arm? Why are there so many points sticking out then?” I asked. I had been to school, and I knew that you only have one bone in your upper arm, your humerus. I knew that in grade school. Little finger ulna. But I made sure to remember that, because when I was little, I wanted to be a surgeon.

By then, he was screaming bloody murder. I tried to comfort him. I fetched the first aid kit, and tried to bandage his arm up, but he would not stop moving. Every time I attempted to move his bones back or even grasp his arm firmly, he would squirm and shy away from me. The blood was everywhere by then, so whenever I tried to grab him, his skin was so slick from it that at the slightest wriggle, he could slip free. All that happened was a few more cracks and a load of bloody gauze everywhere. So I gave up on that, and brought him a moistened little washcloth to wipe his brow with. As I wiped his forehead, I hummed him a song like my mother did to me when I was a very small sick little child. I would have stopped screaming and crying and just fallen asleep, but he continued right on screaming. I, trying to be kind, kept a soft smile on my face and continued singing to him, taking his head in my arms and rocking him back and forth to comfort him. Because he was screaming so loud, I didn't hear the doorbell ring, or the pounding on my door, or even the glass to my front window breaking. My next-door neighbor stood there, mouth agape, staring at the man I was ridiculously trying to comfort. Obviously, she was just as shocked as I was that he was screaming so loud after how I was trying to look after him. And I told him that.

“See, even the nice next door girl thinks you're ridiculous. Quiet darling, hush, and be happy. I'll make it all better. See, here's a kiss,” and I kissed the bloody mess. “A kiss to make it all feel better. And as I stared at the neighbor and she stared back, I smiled apologetically. “He's not bothering you, is he? Oh but he is, because you were forced to come here. Why would you come here if he wasn't waking you good next door folks up with this racket he's been making?”

The horrified expression on her face seemed glued, and her breathing quickened as she pulled a cell phone out of her pocket.

“Oh, cute phone!” I complimented her. She looked at her phone strangely, then at me once again with an aghastedly puzzled look on her face. “I never got one of them, seeing as how I'm not much of a people person. But I do like them. I might have had one when I was in high school. Yes, I think I did.”

She knitted up her eyebrows and swayed gently on the spot, then a faint green pallor washed through her. “Oh, it looks like you're a bit squeamish. Better get out. Vomit might infect the wound. And Lord knows what the acid would feel on all of this raw, bloody flesh of his,” I told her concernedly.

Up and down her mouth moved, reminding me so much of my goldfish that I had to laugh. “Look at that table there. That's my fish Albondigo, named after one of those disgusting meatballs in that horrid Mexican soup. Always hated that soup. You look exactly like him, with that facial expression you're wearing. I've kept him alive for seven years. That's outrageously long for a goldfish. I've always been good with animals, they always live for ages when I'm their caretaker.”

The screaming suddenly stopped and my neighbor started at the silence. Each gush of blood was smaller, and the fountain it created was smaller every heartbeat. The puddle on the floor reminded me of the punch at my senior prom. I smiled a wide smile at the memory, forgetting where I was and what was happening.

“He… needs a, an, ambulance. I'm gonna… call one using my cell phone,” she sputtered.

I sighed, leaving that golden memory behind and addressed the hyperventilating girl in front of me. “I really don't think he needs one. It's just a small scratch. Don't let all the blood fool you. And for heaven's sake, you look pale as a ghost. Take care that you don't faint. Are you sure you're not squeamish?”

“I'm calling 911!”

What could I do, but cave in? “All right girl, but when they arrive, say that you're the one that called them. I don't want to be responsible with disturbing such fine people on a pretty night like this. They do a great service to the community, going to help people in car crashes and such. But you've got your heart set on calling them, so go right ahead.”

She dialed madly, and then started jabbering away to the people on the other end. I heard snatches of her conversation, like “…severe blood loss…” and “…passed out…” but there was a sight that had caught my eye. A mirror across the room had captured my attention, and I craned my head up so I could see my reflection better. I still could not get the angle I wanted, so I stood up quickly. A loud thump sounded as his head clumsily bounced to the ground. “Sorry there. At least you're asleep and dreaming.”

I walked over there, and I saw a sight that made me grin to no end. I was beautiful. My dark hair was messy in a casually fashionable way, and my skin looked white and dewy from the lack of sunshine I'd had the last couple of years. I tried to figure out what was so different, and I came onto it. It was my lips! When I had kissed his arm, the blood had gotten on my lips and stained them a deep, seductive wine red. It made my whole face radiate and glow. I remembered the tale of Snow White, and I gazed at myself in wonder.

“I ought to buy myself some red lipstick. I never dared to wear it. My mother always told me it looked too bold. And maybe I should dye my hair darker, to black. I think that would be splendid. Dark brown doesn't quite have the impression that silky ebony strands have,” I mused aloud, toying with a loose strand of hair that had fallen across my face.

I heard a siren far off, and my attention was brought to the girl again. She was kneeling over him, and trying to finish what I had started. The bloody gauze was now halfway up his arm and she was struggling to finish it, with shaking trembling hands that made her look like she had a seizure.

“You airhead! Why didn't you tell the ambulance people to turn off those sirens they so enjoy blaring loudly! I dislike waking up perfectly pleasant people, and those sirens are making a fine job of it.” At this I paused, and a different thought entered my head. “Oh, but you don't think very much, do you? I've seen you with your husband, always giggling and happy. But you never do much thinking. You think since you're pretty, you've got it made. Let me tell you something though, a secret. That's true, you have it made if you're young and beautiful. Unfortunately for everyone, you won't always be young. And when you're older, no matter how beautiful you are, you need wits or else you'll be devoured by this world. See, the younger beautiful trump the older beautiful. The only way a balance is achieved is that the older women have more experience, and therefore more smarts. But there are some young, beautiful, smart women that beat everyone. Shame you can't become one of them. I was once young and smart, but never beautiful. Well, I am now, but I'm also older now. That's just the way the world is!” Then flashing red lights entered my vision, and I saw them echo through the entire neighborhood. I walked over to the door and yanked it open, preparing myself to started yelling at them for disturbing the peace.

“You there!” the driver looked at me, and another person tapped me on the shoulder. “Were you the one that made the call?” he asked.

“No, of course not. I wouldn't presume to bother you fine people on this gorgeous night. The girl inside called, and I honestly wouldn't blame her. Her heart's in the right place, but her head definitely isn't. She's just not the brightest light bulb in the pack. But she is a good neighbor, and a nice girl. Don't be mad at her please,” I called out to him, as he forced his way past me and sat beside the man. I was not to be swayed from my mission, and I continued on berating the man that drove the ambulance.

“You there! Do you have any consideration for the people sleeping around you? How do you think that they feel with these bright lights and loud sirens waking them from deep slumbers? You could be taking away REM sleep, and the children you've waked might have lost inches of height!” I hollered, allowing my lungs to inflate my words so they seemed to bulge into the air.

“Ma'am, it's only nine o' clock,” the driver answered me.

The other man that had shoved his way past me now pushed me out of the entryway, and went to comfort my neighbor who was leaning against the doorframe, vomit dribbling out of her mouth.

Then, I saw that they were loading him onto the ambulance, and I called out to them, “I will not pay his medical bill! I did not ask for this ambulance! The girl just exaggerated it, he'll be fine. There's nothing a Band-Aid can't fix.” As they drove away, I strained my voice to a louder and louder tone, and I saw the people that were peeking out behind windows close their curtains again.

The man who was comforting my neighbor walked up to me, and said bluntly, “You talk to much. You have the right to remain silent…”

It was all too much. I was offended, for heaven's sake! Nevertheless, he twisted my arms around behind me and started to cuff me.

 

So led me to this solemn occasion, my dear husband's funeral. I let out a long, deep sigh, and walked across the room to the two guards waiting to take me to my court trial for first-degree manslaughter.

The men on either side of me looked so grim that I had to crack a joke. “Wonder what I'll look like in fluorescent orange? Hm, I don't think it suits my skin…”