Who: Kayla Michaels What: The Morning After Where: Her bathroom When: The morning after the party Warnings: Disturbing thoughts, mild mentions of nudity (nothing obscene), vengeful plans, Black Widow tendencies
One woman stood naked amidst a sea of shattered glass. A broken sea was nothing like the oceans that most knew. When sailing a gentle ocean, one needs only a boat and two oars. And even then, waves cup you gently in their hands and carry you, presenting you to the nearest shore. Traversing a broken sea requires cunning and care, lest the seafloor be obscured by heavy blood. And yet that is the risk of attempting to cross it. The pioneers caulked their wagons, sealed them tight, and promptly watched their lives fracture as the broken glass gored wounds into their delicate underbellies.
With nowhere to walk, she resolved to find another way to shore. Standing on her hands would spare her feet the pain of a thousand edges slicing through them, but in turn create a sacrifice. History books told stories of great human sacrifices, exalting those that gave life and limb for intangible ideals. Perhaps one day, this woman would give her body to a cause. It could be battered and broken, or set aflame and buried beneath the surface of the earth. After all, skin was but a coat for her to wear, flesh simply a fashion statement. The inconveniences of blood and bone were what stilled her, forcing her to reach within herself for passage.
Sheer force of will lifted her from the ground she stood on, hovering just a whisper above the jagged waters. The ragged edges of her snapped-off toenails cried out to the jagged glass, matches made in Hell striving to join. An expanding universe accommodated her journey, a dim light illuminating her path. Each piece of glass was a new world in of itself, cracked and broken. She passed them all without a second thought, insulting them with her whole feet and unpunctured skin. Cries and shouts followed her, damning her, as a white-hot beach welcomed her on the other side.
Upon reaching the other side, she collapsed, skin blistering as the scalding dunes surrounded her. The horizon flattened, sky meeting sea, until there was nothing but white. Even the transparent panes of the glass sea turned white, reflecting the sand back on itself until it had consumed the universe. With bleeding hands, she dragged her blistered body through the sands, moving fast yet getting nowhere. When her vision blurred, she realized that she had never moved at all: the world had simply swallowed her in place.
Kayla Michaels opened her eyes.
The light in her bathroom was eerily bright. Too bright. Her blonde hair nearly disappeared against her pale skin, slicked back and stuck too tightly. Droplets of water trickled down her body, pooling on the tiles beneath her feet. She stared at her own reflection, expression fierce and hungry. Her body looked hollow and deflated, somehow. Something had been pulled out of it. She ran a hand over her stomach, feeling for any dips or caves that would give her a clue where to find what she had lost. When her palm didn’t buckle, she moved up, fingers brushing the underside of her breasts. They were the same as ever. Her chest, her shoulders, her thighs, were all the same. Everything was present and accounted for. So why did she feel empty?
As she stared at herself, she reminded herself that she had wanted this. She reminded herself that she had giggled and teased, pulled the strange man along into a curtained bed. But that wasn’t her. The memories played like a movie, watching someone else puppet her body. She looked down at her hands, barely noticing that they were shaking. Someone had crawled into this body and moved her, just as she moved it. But why had she thought so consciously?
Digging her fingers into her hair, she closed her eyes, feeling the droplets of water roll over her skin. The puddle at her feet rose, sliding up her calves and thighs. She was the Kappa, she reminded herself. She turned people into puppets and wrung them dry. She never lost anything to a man. Every time she came close, she took it back. Though her chest felt hollow, she knew that all she had to do was find this man and take back what he had stolen from her. The broken picture frame would be reassembled, and she would be whole again.