I know you've suffered
But I don't want you to hide
It's cold and loveless
I won't let you be denied
Soothing
I'll make you feel pure
Trust me
You can be sure
I want to reconcile the violence in your heart
I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask
I want to exorcise the demons from your past
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart
You trick your lovers
That you're wicked and divine
You may be a sinner
But your innocence is mine
Please me
Show me how it's done
Tease me
You are the one
I want to reconcile the violence in your heart
I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask
I want to exorcise the demons from your past
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart
Please me
Show me how it's done
Trust me
You are the one
I want to reconcile the violence in your heart
I want to recognise your beauty's not just a mask
I want to exorcise the demons from your past
I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart
What do you do when all the world seems to be against you? Most would sit and wait until the turmoil was over, some even try to fight it – you against the world. But the most dangerous of all, are those who sit and endure the torment, plotting the demise of those deemed against them. Thankfully, the majority constrain these fantasies to their imagination, but the odd few – they act on them.
Trixie was not one of these people, however. She would not fight, would not plot, would not imagine. She was past these points. Sat in the back of the class swaddled in her oversized black parker, she seemed as if she should hold a knife or a lighter and be silently abusing the desk. She didn’t. Instead, she sat and watched the rest of the pupils – all their bright colours and flirtation, their laughs and their mocks. They were only fifteen, but demons already. Demons to Trixie.
“What is with your hair, don’t you ever brush it?!” – “Wash it more like.” They laugh.
“You’re such a loner. Are you some form of social retard of something? Oh, you can’t talk? Look guys, she won’t talk!” They gather.
“You’re still a virgin aren’t you? You’ll always be a virgin. Bets up people!” – “She’ll only lose her ‘flower’ if someone steals it from her.” Hyenas. All of them.
She puts up with the shoves and the rubbing up against her as if she were a piece of meat. A piece of meat only used for her holes. She won’t do anything. Never would she do anything.
But he would.
Sat in the opposite corner of the room, tie done up, hair gelled into it’s perfect side parting, shirt steamed, Mick watches. He always watches. He adjusted his glasses, turned to the front and, right under the teacher’s nose, put his hand up.
Shhhhhhhhhh.
The room silences. The hyena’s change their spots. Or their target. Trixie is no longer their afternoon snack. The nerd in the front, all straight A’s and skipping grades of him, is their main meal now.
And this is how it was. The underdog would stick up for the runt of the litter. But never would they interact – she never wanting anything to do with anyone, comfortable with the company of her own sarcastic thoughts, him too shy and too much of a social retard to be able to string two words together to talk to her. He was also afraid she might shank him – he never quite knew whether he was standing up for her, or for the others’ lives.
Leant against the school fence Trixie watched as all the world headed back to the comfort of their own homes. Once again she had been left alone and vulnerable. One of these days the frat boys would hold true to their threats of rape, or ‘deflowering’ as they would no doubt refer to it, a ‘favour to help the social reject’. And she didn’t think that anyone at home would care, or even notice. So she stood in acceptance. This was how it was going to be.
A wind picked up and she pulled her hood up. Passing comments were thrown from the other side of the street. No one dared come near her outside the cosy protection of authorities. Amazing what a dark coloured parker will do for you. She would never do anything that was rumoured about her, but kept the worn out parker in order to afford the distance she wanted from humanity.
She noticed as the frat kids, colour-filled and mini-ly clad, climbed into the back of an old VW Camper Van, the oldest of them driving. Oh what Fridays bought! Sex and the lack of parental guidance – whether they thought their kids were at each others’ home or on a school trip no one but them would know, and no one but them would care.
Trixie watched as the van pulled away, the latest radio crap blasting from the speakers and the sluts barely managing to keep it in their pants any longer. She felt the wind on her face, cool and with a salty scent to it. The street was almost clear of everyone but Trixie. Her fingers clung to the wiring of the school gate, winding their way around the mesh, finding the cold, hard steal comforting.
Suddenly there was a heart wrenching screech and a thunderous clash. Trixie jumped and looked down the road in the direction of the noises. Without any thought her legs started moving and she was running toward the sounds. As she drew nearer the distinctive sounds of screaming filtered into the air, and she picked up speed, her heart pounding, the rare feeling of care rushing through her veins faster and faster.
As suddenly as they came, the screams all stopped.
Trixie rounded the corner to see the old VW Camper her tormenters had left in on it’s side, tires blown, burning.
She stopped, torn for a moment. Confused.
Then there was movement, the back doors of the camper quivering and rocking as if being rammed. Trixie ran forward, tearing off her beloved parker and it’s flammable fabrics. She reached the doors of the camper, grabbing the handle and singeing the skin on her hands. The fire was hot, seemingly melting her flesh. She couldn’t get the door open. It was too hot. She pulled off the sweater she was wearing. She was down to a simple tank top and jeans. She reached forward and yanked at the door once more. Sweat dripped down her cheek, falling off at her chin. One more heave. She screamed in her efforts…
With force enough to through her off balance, the door swung open. She hit the floor grazing her elbows on the rough tarmac. There was a dark figure hunched over in the van. It was coughing from the smoke billowing out of the back of the truck. Trixie scrambled up and ran to get the figure out of the wreckage.
As she approached, the features of the man became clear. The shirt, now crumpled and blackened, the hair still perfectly in place. Trixie almost slammed into Mick, surprise distracting her from stopping. He looked up at her, a mixed expression on his face, one no one could really tell the intention of. She looked down at him, down at the blade he carried. At the blood soaked blade he carried.
The contents of the van suddenly became clearer. Smoke was escaping fast enough for the air to be translucent once more. It was an image out of a horror movie. The bodies, mangled by the crash but killed by the blade, leaked blood that soaked into the soles of her shoes. They no longer resembled human beings. They no longer resembled anything that ever lived.
Trixie looked back up at Mick, his expression becoming clearer. It bounced between innocent shock and violent, silent victory. There was blood splattered on the lens of his glasses. Trixie looked from the bodies to him, mouth gaping open in confusion. Mick looked expectantly at the begoggled girl in front of him, as if he had just kissed her for the first time. Trixie stared at him, mouth closing slowly.
She reached forward and gently removed his glasses. They stared at each other. The glasses never reached their clean state. Instead, they shattered, as they connected with the van at the feet of the two teenagers. They stared at each other, minds racing. But it was simple. Everything was simple once again. As they stared at each other, stood amongst the destruction and mutilation, a small smile formed on the lips of both of them.
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