Written by Cee Martinez
Voting is closed as of 22 February 2013! Thank you all for participating in our Mystery Author Bloody Valentine Flash Fiction event!
“I bet you’ve never had a Valentine,” I whisper to myself as I look at her as she sits alone.
Yes, alone she sits, in pink and gauze, her gloves with fingers snipped off, her lips pressed together tightly and I know, yes, I know she’s never had a kiss.
I sit on the frozen bench and Lucy’s cheek is pressed on my lap. Is she asleep or is she staring at the girl with the pink, gauzy scarf?
Lucy leaves me that evening when I won’t slit blood across her her arm the way I used to.
What use is love if there is no blood, are the words that do not leave her lips but hang in the air as she turns away.
When the door slams shut, I think–well, Lucy wears pink as well–but her pink is in a criss cross network embedded all over her flesh. I’ve given her only one third of the scars she’s given herself.
I’m tired of blood and I want a pink that is soft——-
Lucy sees me with the girl in pink, sometime weeks ahead. She follows us as I take her for coffee, and then I take her next door, buy her a ruby bracelet, and then gnaw on her breasts in an alley. (Lucy watches this as well.)
–What more can you do with her? Lucy sends this text, What more can there be? Come back to me and bleed again. Come back and make me bleed!
Little Lucy (ragdoll in love) The True Love Always
Lucy’s arm on the floor–Arm worn. Arm done. Blood spatter, spray, spill–Tourniquet tight. Lucy smile–claw tooth saw tooth in hand.
“Job well done.” Peter said, “Ragdoll tight.”
Peter sleeps, black sheet over waist, but not on chest, and not on ass. The black creates boy-bisected. Tongue on lip, blood drip, drip, drip, and Little Lucy approaches, claw tooth saw tooth in hand.
Vivisection (valentine’s day) The Girl in Pink
Torn fanny–cold slit to my stomach. My womb is in your pocket filled with your fags. My heart in my hands–not warm as once, blood gone sticky, muscle graying.
I want your voice again, not the canned ghost on a service.
A boy with your name called this morning, not the boy I wanted, but he delivered sweets to my ears. I cried as we spoke. He didn’t know I’m here in bed but I’ve left my nipples between your lips.
Where have you gone?
My heart tells me your heart no longer beats.
