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There was a beat of silence after the scissors sank into Harvey's eyes. A stillness unfitting for the grotesque scenery. It was beautiful, the trickle of blood that flowed from the wound and down, down, leaving a trail of scarlet on pale, porcelain skin. Harvey's eyes—those wide periwinkle eyes that held oceans and stars—widened all innocently, like a deer caught in headlights, as if he foolishly believed that his begging would be of any use. Plush pink lips quivered, opening slightly, then—
"AAaaaaUGHH—"
Adorable. It was just adorable, that scream. So pathetic, so full of anguish and hate, it was simply brilliant.
With a sickening squelch, the scissors fell onto the crudely-made wooden stand, leaving a fleshy cavity where Harvey's left eye once resided. The sparkly blue iris shone in the morning sunlight, like a wave of clear seawater splashing onto the shore.
"MY EYE! M-My fucking eye!" Harvey's hand darted up, pressing against the cavity, while the other hand slammed onto the counter a handful of coins with an arousing indignation. His chest heaved, erratic breaths syncopating against the tumultuous pounding of his heart. Whatever vision he had left was blurring, spinning, warping from the adrenaline. Warm, sticky blood seeped through the cracks of his fingers. Blood, blood, blood, blood, blood...
There was so much blood. flowing from that initial river of scarlet, spilling from the poor boy's vain attempt to salvage whatever hope of salvation remained in that soft little heart, dripping from his nose. Tender fingers reached out and wiped at the corner of his mouth, smearing blood across his cheek. Harvey's skin was cold, like smooth marble, against the summer sun.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Harvey's voice shook, a quiver that only fanned the flames. "What the fuck did I do to deserve this—ah."
A fresh line of blood dripped down Harvey’s pretty little lips as teeth sunk into the flesh. It tasted like sunshine and morning dew, a drop of golden honey during coral-tinted dawn. A strained sound escaped Harvey’s throat, drawn out and tight, as if begging for mercy. As if he was still clinging onto hope.
That hope should, needed to be destroyed. Harvey was best enjoyed broken, a shattered pile of traumatic memories and tragically beautiful packaging.
"Mngh—"
Those pillowy lips were captured in another kiss, another bite. Fingers ran through soft pink locks, scattering the alluring scent of lavender. More strained whines and grunts escaped, and were promptly swallowed as hungry lips dove in for more.
"FUCK—you sick, twisted bastard." Harvey practically spat the last word before his mouth was full of tongue again. His mouth was covered in filth and tasted like rot. All because of this psychopath, tainting his lips again and again with dirt and maggots with that manic smile. He made a grave mistake, letting this non-human take advantage of—oh god, was that a knife?!
"Oh no. No no no no no, buddy! You’re not gonna use that on me, are you?" The knife inched closer. "Haven’t you done enough to me? You’ve already shattered by dignity, so please, just leave me my body!"
That was perfect. The choked sobs and whimpers that left Harvey’s mouth were rhythmic melodies dancing atop a lily pad. Tears spilled from those star-blessed eyes, streams of stardust against streaks of red. Like a beautiful tragedy, captured in oil paints and watercolour.
The fucker was stroking his cheek now, thumbing the shallow needle cuts, smearing soot and ash across his face. He whimpered involuntarily, groaning at the pain. He hated how warm it felt, how gentle the touch was.
Harvey’s eye held an undeniable spite. Firm brows and piercing hatred, such harsh contortions on such soft features. This won’t do.
Blood was all Harvey could taste as he bit down on his lip, squirming as the knife sliced the side of his face, from above his eyebrow all the day down to his chin. He fought his instincts to make no noise, because that was what the bastard wanted.
But then the blade met his skin again, and again, and again, and Harvey couldn’t prevent the sobs and cries and begs and sniffles that escaped, the shocks of pain that burned through his flesh and in his heart.
The fucker captured his lips in a kiss again, and Harvey couldn’t be bothered to fight back. There was nothing he could do, was there? He was just a puppet, blocks of wood and strings to be toyed with until the puppeteer got bored. He could feel saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth and down his chin, mixed with blood and smeared with ash.
"Please, don’t do this…I’ll do anything…" The knife was pointed at his chest now. "Please, I have a wife and child…"
With a psychotic smile, the knife sank into his heart.
"GUH—AH—"
The guttural noise that came from Harvey’s mouth, followed by the wet, gurgling breaths, was divine. Rose petals bloomed from Harvey’s chest and dripped from his mouth, which tasted as delectable as they smelled.
Harvey lacked the energy to scream, barely had enough to keep his eyes open. His back was pressed against something soft now—the grass—and a weight was on his legs. Warm, sticky blood seeped through his dress shirt as his abdomen was stabbed again and again and again and again and again and again and again and—
"I give up…"
The knife entered his stomach one last time, and Harvey’s sight dimmed.
Harvey was so, so pretty like this. Blood and drool smeared across porcelain skin, hair tousled and dirtied, eyes half-lidded with despair, body trembling. Blood gushing from his stomach and heart, blood streaming down his eye socket like tears, blood blooming from every inch of his body. Blood, blood, blood.
What a beautiful, perfect little doll.
You take in the sight of Harvey’s beautifully tragic corpse—every dried tear, every last quiver, every last strands of life tugging at his still body—and you press the reset button.
You need more.
And so you’ll get more.