Should this kill her; this life- the death will be just as warm as any bullet. Each word uttered is a sting of a razor blade against flesh baring ageless scars. Words are deadly, cutting deeper; she knows they are dangerous, but she continues to speak.
Wounds are unseen when a homicide is committed by a whisper. No evidence but the death of the heart, the echo in the mind. She’d haunt this world as a living ghost; the heart dies a slow death.
There’s a breath, a flicker of fire as a purr rumbles through a heavy chest. She had fallen so hard for so long she never felt the warm floor underneath her. The eyes are the first to rise, as golden tresses fan around her. Purrs turn to growls when she finds herself caged in a room of corners.
Her first healing step on palm and knee soon turn backwards as time progresses. She’s backed into another corner by the same old words. Statements that cut and slash at her as if she were rolling in thistle threaten her survival. But, the she-lion trapped in flesh reaches her breaking point and the cornered animal attacks in fear of her own demise.
The beast, once wounded forgets the blood dripping from each pore and recoils before striking and ripping at throats. She never wanted blood but soon finds her golden mane leaden with blood of the wounded. The woman wouldn’t kill, but the beast would retaliate; this lesson was learned. Though, what’s the cat to do when the throat ripped is her own?
Speeches she’ll never give until she heals while laying in the middle of a room of corners. What’s a kitten to do when faced with the teeth of her inner beast? She fights herself every time she backs into a corner, continuing to scratch at wounds irritated by outside fleas.
Others that lick at her blood, feed on her self inflicted pain when she says nothing at all. Pests that stimulate change in a proud beast not willing. It’s a ravishment of the heart and desires while she licks at her burns each scar holding the death of a dream.
This self doubt is not of a proud lioness, but that of a kitten with no sight. She fumbles and growls inwardly when other’s prod at her with sharp spears. She’s still caged as walls melt to bars, thick- now she is tormented by the sights she can only see. Dreaming was easier than seeing a reality out of reach.
The proud lioness says nothing as she jumped through hoops set aflame in feats meant only for her. But as the audience rises so does the whip and the crack of words come again. Faster and faster, higher and higher she’ll jump, through obstacles not her own for the appeasement of others.
Overhead spotlights gleam over her flaws and she can do nothing but bare her teeth in bitter resignation. If only the lioness’ keeper was as strong and could release her… if only she could stop forcing her inner strength to support and entertain on stages not her own.
Their words are as simple and selfish as her actions are mindlessly subordinate. Her body may be wracked with lashes of other’s want, but forever will her head be held high. One day she will retire in contentment and soon other’s will jump for such a creature.
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Submission Name: Lion
