Blood and Thunder(TW, suicide, abuse, self-harm) | Teen Ink

Blood and Thunder(TW, suicide, abuse, self-harm)

April 11, 2021
By SparrowSun ELITE, X, Vermont
SparrowSun ELITE, X, Vermont
159 articles 22 photos 913 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It Will Be Good." (complicated semi-spiritual emotional story.)
And the words I say most often: "Where was I?"
"I just switched 50 things to anonymus and it doesnt even make a diff- why was i writing this again? where was i? hm.... oh well."


My heart bleeds. Another injury, another scar. injured by Thunder. He had a name, once. back during the time I think I can remember, like a dream, a happier time. and before that, a childhood. A life.

Thunder sounds from deep in his chest, directed at me. I wince. Another cut to my bleeding heart. I stare up at him from my knees, no tears in my eyes anymore, no hate in them, nothing. a horrible nothingness, I think. I feel hollow, and like my eyes are black pits staring up at him, consuming him. I hope so. but he doesn't stop, he doesn't look in them. he continues to thunder at my bleeding heart. I look down again. crash down. I drop to my elbows and set my hair cascading into my face.

he kicks me, softly. he doesn't break bones or penetrate skin, that wouldn't really hurt. He doesn't know it, but he doesn't need to. I do enough on my own. hidden though, always hidden. I get back on my knees and wait for him to finish. when he does I hide my heart and clean up the broken jar he attacked me for. I hide a shard in my pocket, in secret, and empty the rest into the trash, and then set about dinner.

he leaves. I sit and try to soothe the pain. not heal it, tuck it all away so it won't be seen. I finish and emotionlessly finish his dinner, putting it on low heat so it will be warm for him. ready well ahead of time, to be safe, but warm. the phone rings. I'm not to answer his calls. I glance at the ID. My mother. I ignore it.

I can't speak to her, and even if he let me, I don't want to share what's been happening. I heat some leftovers for my own dinner. he gets back, and I bring him his food, desperately hoping it's not too hot. I leave to the bathroom, to get out of his way, and pull up my pantleg, taking out the shard of glass.

just behind and below the knee I sink it in, drawing out a long, ugly gash. blood, from my heart. I pocket again the glass shard and rinse it in the bath, washing the blood run down the drain, imagining he ran down the drain with it. and all my pain. and myself. everything in me that's still somehow alive. if it all ran down the drain with that blood I wouldn't feel anymore, wouldn't care, wouldn't bleed.

I dry off my leg and carefully wring out my pant leg. I wrap a bandage around my leg and clean up the residue of blood in the bathtub, putting it in the wash. I feel marginally better. he will finish diner soon, so I head out to wait.

he finishes and I run out to take his plate to the kitchen, carefully avoiding eye contact, and wash it. I glance back at the leftovers, now burnt. I glance back out at him. he's left to watch tv. I eat them quietly and clean while I wait for him to go to bed. after an hour or so, he does.

i climb onto the couch and fall asleep, hoping to wake up early so he won't yell at me again. I do. I get up silently and make his breakfast, setting the table. he comes out soon thereafter and I quietly serve his food. he ignores me, and I leave. the next day, he thunders at me again, and immediately after that. and again, two days later. 

the next day, I carry out his hot food for dinner but trip. it splatters all over me, the floor, and the table. not a speck on him. I feel the burns sink in, but pay no heed. I cower and wait for him to come. silence. then I hear a boot thud. then another. and another. the footfalls reach me. silence. my fear heightens. then the storm breaks. he thunders down at me, reminds me how worthless I am, and yells and yells for 15 minutes. thunder. as he shouts, in sync, I hear real thunder outside. I wait for it to break. my heart bleeds again, scars reopening. 

ugly. clumsy. stupid. worthless. I should never have been born. I hear it in the thunder. He strikes me for the first time. quick, like lightning. thunder and lightning He leaves, angrily, to a restaurant or something. I quietly clean up the mess. when I finish, I stare out the window. I see lightning strike. I shouldn't exist. I want to die. I know what I'm going to do. I think about leaving him a note, but I don't want to touch paper in case he's offended. I clean his house for the last time and walk to the door.

i stare at it, considering. I shake my head and turn back. No, I have to do this. I haven't left his house since a few months after our marriage. I hesitate, at war with myself. I reach out and touch the handle, wincing. I reach into my pocket for comfort and take the glass shard, drawing courage from my blood. I turn the handle and walk out into the storm. it becomes easy. I find a mountain nearby. it takes me hours to hike up it. he must be home by now. he knows I'm gone. I broke the rules, I have to go back! no, if I keep going he won't punish me. maybe even be pleased with me, for once, if he finds out. 

I reach the top and stare up at the sky. I hear the thunder. I release tears for the first time in years.

"Strike me!" I scream into the sky. thunder responds.  watch for lighting. nothing.

"Please! I'm ready to bleed outside!" I scream into it again. He strikes elsewhere. I take out the glass and cut my cheek. not hidden anymore. I show him my blood.

"Please!" He ignores me. I have had enough of being ignored.

"You don't believe me?!" I know I sound like a crazy woman, screaming at the sky, blood, water, tears, running down my face, hair in it. I don't care anymore. 

"I'll show it!" my bleeding heart. I take the shard of glass, so small for its vast purpose, and plunge it into my heart. I'm not dead yet. I pull it out and raised it to the sky, showing him my blood. 

"See?!" He turns to me. I suppose the metal of my blood in the air is worth his attention. I watch in slow motion as white energy descends on me, into the glass, thru me. I'm falling now, the wound to my heart and the lighting are robbing my strength.  I fall to my knees, kneeling for him again. then I topple. I hear thunder, and in that snap, the world disappeared. 

Death by heart's blood and words thunder. By Blood and Thunder.


The author's comments:

i wanted to write a short story so i found a phrase for a prompt(all parts of my final were done with phrase prompts(except hope eyes, the prompt for that was the picture), a hole in the wall was a prompt for a hole in the wall, the dance was same old dance in the same old shoes, and promise of a shadow was i am tired, my heart is sick and sad). 

Disclaimer- i almost never write about real stuff. i am not being abused, nor am i suicidal. i have perfectly fine self-esteem and I'm not even in a relationship to be abused in(obviously, if i were in a situation like that i wouldn't have access to a device on which to publish on teenink about it.)

editing hurt(so i didn't do much).

to be clear she should have found help, not committed suicide. I'm not endorsing suicide. if you are being abused or suicidal for another reason get help. likewise, abuse is never ok. if your abusing someone for some reason and are capable of admitting it stop and also get help.


Similar Articles

JOIN THE DISCUSSION

This article has 3 comments.


on Aug. 18 at 8:50 pm
ZlataBicheva BRONZE, North Bay Village, Florida
1 article 0 photos 1 comment
amazing!!

on Apr. 20 at 4:01 pm
SparrowSun ELITE, X, Vermont
159 articles 22 photos 913 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It Will Be Good." (complicated semi-spiritual emotional story.)
And the words I say most often: "Where was I?"
"I just switched 50 things to anonymus and it doesnt even make a diff- why was i writing this again? where was i? hm.... oh well."

thanks!

on Apr. 20 at 3:50 pm
AngryPomerainian64 BRONZE, Orting, Washington
3 articles 0 photos 12 comments

Favorite Quote:
"There's nothing crueler than letting a dream end midway." -Shota Aizawa

This story was so heavy and depressing. It was amazing. It's so cool to me that you can write like this without experiencing the same pain, as said in your disclaimer.