Sanguine Rose. 嗜血玫瑰。——关于爱与恨的消逝与滋生。
The very first time I felt hatred burning in my chest was when Darcy, the guy next door broke my beloved Barbie and wrote all over her face. He pulled off every stripe of her hair, stabbed open her plastic guts, and ripped her fancy dress to rags. It was a feeling I couldn’t let out with language, I sprang off crying like hell.
That night I dreamed of the Barbie, wounded from head to toe, groaning in pain. “Tell me I’m still pretty.” She asked me in my dream; it was a thing Barbies normally ask. I was of course too horrified to speak, but nodded vaguely. She then stared me an evil stare, for a moment I thought I was cursed. “Rose,” she said, “I want you to have eyes like crystal night, a smile that lights up a whole room, and a heart that welcomes all.” She paused, staring at my long hair almost jealously. “Just like I was.” Something about the way she interpreted it make me uneasy, as if I was possessed.
I used to name the Barbie rose, I guess that was what made us connected, in some sort of twisted way. But I have always loved her, more than I have loved anyone. Now that she was gone, my love was gone.
The other morning Darcy came back with a brand new Barbie his mom forced him to buy, handed me unwillingly, and pleaded for my forgiveness. I knew it was all drama, for his mama to see so he wouldn’t get in trouble. I slapped him across the face; he almost fell to the concrete ground. He stared at me wide-eyed, in shock. I screamed and yelled, even kicked a little. The message was I never wanted to see him again. And I never did.
Because that night while he fell dead asleep I climbed though the open windows, carefully not to touch every inch of air wave. The poor guy had no idea. No idea how I sneaked up on him, how I’d stuck a shining blade into his spine. He let out a sound with one final stroke, but it was too small to be heard. My face was splashed was another being’s blood, it felt warm. A kind of warmth I’d never have in any other way. Blood soaked from his shirt and spread slowly on his pure blanket. I felt like a rose being watered, and that I’d live on and on. I left my ruined Barbie beside Darcy, just in case he got lonely while being dead.
It took me some effort to pull the blade back out, it was stuck to his bone. Scraping off the white frame I managed to let lose. It left a deep mark on his body, a mark that matched my blade, almost like a piece of puzzle or a key hole. I was quick at getting home without anyone noticing. Besides, no one ever notices me anyways; as if I was invisible to them all year long. I hid the blade in my giant jewelry box and got rid of the bloody clothes. There was nothing to fear, I had only done what I needed to. I was then seven.
But the hatred wasn’t gone; it somehow grew inside me like a pot of boiling monster blood, sticky and gross, with an enormous appetite to swallow all my feelings, digesting what’s left of my humanity.
I knew it wasn’t over.
I continued with my wreck of hatred. The guilt for being cruel didn’t increase as the number of lives I’ve taken did, nor did my hatred reduce. I once strangled a middle aged woman with a gentle smile that I met in the subway and followed home to. It was then I felt a tint of guilt. I knew it for my hands trembled, which it normally wouldn’t. She reminded me so much of my mother, my biological mother who died early. I remember her from my blurry past, when I was still an innocent kid. But I had to kill her, she reminded me too much of the one I love. And I hate to love, it made me feel weak.
Days passed and I lived without guilt. The local news paper mentioned of these murders a couple of times. And the police department have been putting the innocent in jail, you know how polices are. For the ones they couldn’t find anyone to blame for, they simply assumes its suicide or accidental death. No one ever suspected me. Who would blame a cute innocent girl like me, with the name rose, eyes like crystal night, a smile that lights up a whole room, and a heart that welcomes all?
There are things to keep me awake at nights, all those thoughts, they get into my mind, and they drive me crazy. But I wasn’t, I had to remain calm. For I cared about nothing in the world and nothing cared about me. I stared up at the ceiling and it was like my life. There was nothing there anymore, except emptiness and hate.
As I said, I hate to love, so I loved to hate. I learned so fast, to hate everything, everything that I touch.
Until one day I turned my eyes to the ones I was supposed to love, but never did.
I was fifteen when my father married some old woman strip club. He was nothing but a bag of old bones wanting fresh meat. Her name was Tiffany, a pretty bitchy name huh? She was nothing but an old bitch wanting some cash. So they made a perfect couple. Tiffany brought Casey to live with us, too. She’s a girl my age, except that she’s a sassy wannabe, always bossing others around. No one thought about me. I didn’t need them to care for me, because I will just hate them all the same.
Right after dinner one day Casey called me to our back yard. We had a few talks, it was nice. I mean, to talk to people. But I knew she never like me, until I found out she just want me to hook up with this guy she dumped so he wouldn’t bother her anymore. Of course I had to reject. I didn’t like to pick up her leftovers; I would hunt my own prey. She looked kind of upset and left. I couldn’t do it, no matter how hard I try to please them, they wouldn’t like me. It’s who I am, and it’s in my blood.
Dad died months after getting married. Tiffany told me and the police that he had a heart stroke while they were in bed. “He was getting old.” She said. And the police didn’t give a damn about the case. Though I knew Tiffany was after the money, I didn’t unravel her scheme. With her help, I wouldn’t have to do it myself. Dad was already on my list, she was too. Everyone I knew was.
They did not move out, I mean the evils in my life. I knew no long I’d be driven out from home by the ugly stepmothers and sisters as in a fairy tale, only that I did not have a prince charming waiting outside. So I chose the perfect time to act, to finish what I’ve started. Casey was in the bathtub, with bubbles all around her. She talked to the rubber duckie as if that was me; she swore and cussed, acting like an idiot. She was so into her own drama that she didn’t notice when I entered. She didn’t even have time to scream as I calmly ripped her throat open. Blood diffused into the bubbly water; it was all pink, blossoming as it spreads. Almost, like a rose.
I came downstairs to meet Tiffany’s cold stare.
“Where’s Casey?” She asked. “Get her for me.”
“In the bathtub.” I replied. “She wouldn’t come. So I brought back a souvenir. Her pretty head.”
I revealed the head as I approach.
Tiffany practically pounded, grabbing for the phone. “Don’t come near.” She screamed. “I’m calling the police.”
I stared down at her horrified face, for a moment I nearly felt sorry for her. But I knew I could never have emotions like that, all I had was hate.
“Dead meats don’t talk.” I told her.
And it was over for her.
The hatred didn’t go way. And I didn’t turn myself in to the police. Instead, I chose to meet Jason at the coffee bar down town. He’s the one Casey was trying to set me up with, and even though I rejected, it might be still worth a try. So we met, he seemed like a nice guy. But he means nothing to me, just like all the rest. He’s too much of a goody-goody, and I knew deep down that I will have to finish him someday in my life.
Even if it will hurt to harm.
Even if it will hurt to heal.
Spikes are what make the roses strong. Hate is what makes me strong.
Jason would have never suspected me. For I have eyes like crystal night, a smile that lights up a whole room, and a heart that welcomes all.