Cauliflour
The masochist who doodles.
- Mar 24, 2025
- 609
It's a cold winters day. You're trying to sit normally inside the vibrating can that is your local bus; you don't want people to notice your behaviour and make up assumptions. However, you just can't get your thoughts straight. Your eyes dart around the different coloured shoes as you keep your back hunched and aching like you're paralysed to all forms of eye contact. Breathing becomes noticeable. Heart begins it's exercise. Legs just refuse to remain quiet and proper, sliding and kicking across the floor. People are definitely noticing you now, but you lack all control to fight it. Finally, your stop approaches and you can make your way home. People will keep those thoughts lingering and tap them away on their phone keyboards to transfer them to their social media of choice, but there are more important things to be thinking of right now.
She waits. She smiles. You both have it all memorised forwards and backwards.
The initiation will only happen after some nice conversation. Hot drinks, CD players and surprisingly light conversation topics considering what you both have so clearly on your mind. She clears her throat, and asks you a question. She asks you if you've achieved what you wanted to in life. You pause for a second to allow the processing time required to answer. You're not 100% sure, but you're satisfied enough. You're satisfied that you've made a mark big enough for people to care. She looks pleased with your response, oh so very pleased. You can't help but smile too, even if it's hard for your muscles to form. The words are hard to form in your throat even though you have it all planned out.
What if she's changed her mind?
What if you phrase it insultingly?
What if you messed up a single detail and now it's all gone wrong?
You sit there and hope she can pick up on your increasingly subtle hints. Thankfully she knows you better than you do in places and can see right through you. She begins to laugh, a little giggle that gets amplified when you join in. The anxiety has taken over your bloodstream in one swoop and now your brain is in scatters. You go back through the plan and organise your thoughts. You don't know what you're feeling, but you got it under control.
While in the plan this was the vaguest of steps, the initiation starts with you and her in close proximity to the point you can feel each other heart beats. Hers races just like yours and yet she seems so calm and in control. You spend every second memorising the sounds of her breaths and the sights of her comforting eyes. There was nothing dirty within this scene, just you two, staring at each other while having your arms wrapped around like a bow on a present. For a second, your brain wants to abort the plan and just remain in the moment for as long as humanly possible, cowarding in the comfort of familiarity. After all, you've never done this before. Finally, almost in sync, you detangle yourselves, and what was about to happen next is something the news readers and historians try to reject as part of the story, and instead weave their own narrative.
You sit on the floor, looking up with an expression that resembes some form of uncommon happiness on your face. She swings back and forth and back and forth and back and forth like she's trying to hypnotise you with her torso, back and forth and back and forth and back an-STRIKE!!!
Her breathing has really struck up, she must have suceeded. You divert your gaze to your stomach and witness the specially shapened knife, sticking out of you, handle so deep her hands are grazing. You wonder when the feeling will kick in but your thought of that gets interrupted when the adrenaline wears off and the prickles from the inside stab you from every touching surface. You've never felt something so wonderful before. More and more the prickles ramp up and all you can think about is opening your throat as wide as it can possibly go, and laughing.
You laugh laugh laugh laugh laugh laugh even when the feeling of warm liquid is dribbling down you, you just keep laughing laughing laughing laughing laughi-OOOOoooWwwwW!!!
The knife is swiftly pulled out without you realising until the comfortable positioning of your insides gets shaken up. At this point you've fallen backwards and are now lying on the floor. You can't help but tap at the wound. Tapping tap tap away even though each touch causes a bolt of pain to shoot right through you. You've been laughing for so long your throat hurts but that doesn't matter anymore and you keep at it. Her eyes look mystical under the lens of dopamine ridden adrenaline. She's sitting on top of your legs to get a better position of her next shot. There's no surprise here as to help you both mentally prepare, you start a count down.
10
9
8
7
6 Her breathing is getting heavier
5
4
3 your brain is so full of conflicting feelings from yourself and nature that it's giving you a headache
2
1
STRIK-STR-STRIKE-STRIKE-STR-ST-STR-ST-S-ST-S-S-STR-STRI-STRIKE!!!
Your entire torso is drenched with your own blood. You feel weak, oh so weak, but despite all the newly made holes in you, you can still laugh, and so you do. The conflicting feeling of joy you're feeling in this current moment has burned you out and yet rejuvenated you at the same time due to the sheer quantity that nothing has ever come close to, and it's because of her! She looks proud with a hint of natural strangeness mixed into her gaze. She's decided that's enough and sits next to you, catching her breath back. You can't do the same. Every move, nature shoves you back down. Every breath, nature makes it clear you're a freak of it. Nonetheless, you manage to rotate your head to face hers and you talk. You talk for quite a bit. The prickles consumed you ages ago and now you're just bathing in it's wrongful essence.
However, it's not fair to let you only get the fun, and so you move onto the next step. She passes you the knife and you shut your ears from nature and get to your knees. She gently drags you closer to a wall where she puts her back to. Trembling and shaking, you hold the knife. You decide to examine it first, after all, this is probably your last moment with it. It's a very well kept knife, luxurious and stunning. If your blood wasn't clotting all over the blade, you could probably see your reflection in the blade. You bring it to your cheek and rub it against you. Bits of dried blood flake off and the wetter parts cause some sort of a red smudge to form. You say over and over how you'll do a good job, a great job, an excellent job. You try to remember her technique but the weakness of sixteen varying stab wounds constantly tries to drag you down. Eventually, after a brief moment of clarity to calm the nerves, you push the knife in as far as you could, using your weak hand's palm to push into the edge. She laughs with every push you take. Once you've finished, it must've been right into her heart. You try to take the knife out but it's too wedged in. You try tugging and tugging but she tells you to stop: the feeling of the blade mixing it all up is distracting her. You let nature push you down, and the last thing you remember after your mutter about feeling sleepy and how much you love her, is your cheek on her chest right next to where the knife is lodged, just focusing on her breaths and heartbeat...
Your disaperance is brought to concern quite quickly and it isn't long before your corpse's location is discovered. The witnesses are horrified at the scene but the camera you set up, recording the entire scene and all your discussion around it, is one of the first things they notice after the initial shock. Despite your seemingly flawless plan, your brain was so distracted and unfocused that you failed to realise that the plan had taken a divergence. You were in too weak of a state to get the wound to kill her, and so she was still laying there, waiting for death to come to her next as she looks down at your lifeless body on top of her. She was taken to hospital. She got stitches and a machine hooked up to her so her heart could still beat properly for the time being, but she was still alive. She broke down in court over the constant stream of horrible messages friends, family and strangers sent her after they found out what she did, but the hospital made sure she'll never try to attempt anything similar ever again, even if living with the guilt of killing someone you really cared about in such a barbaric way is how she will live.
This isn't anything deep, I just wanted to write something edgy. Don't expect a clever message from this.
She waits. She smiles. You both have it all memorised forwards and backwards.
The initiation will only happen after some nice conversation. Hot drinks, CD players and surprisingly light conversation topics considering what you both have so clearly on your mind. She clears her throat, and asks you a question. She asks you if you've achieved what you wanted to in life. You pause for a second to allow the processing time required to answer. You're not 100% sure, but you're satisfied enough. You're satisfied that you've made a mark big enough for people to care. She looks pleased with your response, oh so very pleased. You can't help but smile too, even if it's hard for your muscles to form. The words are hard to form in your throat even though you have it all planned out.
What if she's changed her mind?
What if you phrase it insultingly?
What if you messed up a single detail and now it's all gone wrong?
You sit there and hope she can pick up on your increasingly subtle hints. Thankfully she knows you better than you do in places and can see right through you. She begins to laugh, a little giggle that gets amplified when you join in. The anxiety has taken over your bloodstream in one swoop and now your brain is in scatters. You go back through the plan and organise your thoughts. You don't know what you're feeling, but you got it under control.
While in the plan this was the vaguest of steps, the initiation starts with you and her in close proximity to the point you can feel each other heart beats. Hers races just like yours and yet she seems so calm and in control. You spend every second memorising the sounds of her breaths and the sights of her comforting eyes. There was nothing dirty within this scene, just you two, staring at each other while having your arms wrapped around like a bow on a present. For a second, your brain wants to abort the plan and just remain in the moment for as long as humanly possible, cowarding in the comfort of familiarity. After all, you've never done this before. Finally, almost in sync, you detangle yourselves, and what was about to happen next is something the news readers and historians try to reject as part of the story, and instead weave their own narrative.
You sit on the floor, looking up with an expression that resembes some form of uncommon happiness on your face. She swings back and forth and back and forth and back and forth like she's trying to hypnotise you with her torso, back and forth and back and forth and back an-STRIKE!!!
Her breathing has really struck up, she must have suceeded. You divert your gaze to your stomach and witness the specially shapened knife, sticking out of you, handle so deep her hands are grazing. You wonder when the feeling will kick in but your thought of that gets interrupted when the adrenaline wears off and the prickles from the inside stab you from every touching surface. You've never felt something so wonderful before. More and more the prickles ramp up and all you can think about is opening your throat as wide as it can possibly go, and laughing.
You laugh laugh laugh laugh laugh laugh even when the feeling of warm liquid is dribbling down you, you just keep laughing laughing laughing laughing laughi-OOOOoooWwwwW!!!
The knife is swiftly pulled out without you realising until the comfortable positioning of your insides gets shaken up. At this point you've fallen backwards and are now lying on the floor. You can't help but tap at the wound. Tapping tap tap away even though each touch causes a bolt of pain to shoot right through you. You've been laughing for so long your throat hurts but that doesn't matter anymore and you keep at it. Her eyes look mystical under the lens of dopamine ridden adrenaline. She's sitting on top of your legs to get a better position of her next shot. There's no surprise here as to help you both mentally prepare, you start a count down.
10
9
8
7
6 Her breathing is getting heavier
5
4
3 your brain is so full of conflicting feelings from yourself and nature that it's giving you a headache
2
1
STRIK-STR-STRIKE-STRIKE-STR-ST-STR-ST-S-ST-S-S-STR-STRI-STRIKE!!!
Your entire torso is drenched with your own blood. You feel weak, oh so weak, but despite all the newly made holes in you, you can still laugh, and so you do. The conflicting feeling of joy you're feeling in this current moment has burned you out and yet rejuvenated you at the same time due to the sheer quantity that nothing has ever come close to, and it's because of her! She looks proud with a hint of natural strangeness mixed into her gaze. She's decided that's enough and sits next to you, catching her breath back. You can't do the same. Every move, nature shoves you back down. Every breath, nature makes it clear you're a freak of it. Nonetheless, you manage to rotate your head to face hers and you talk. You talk for quite a bit. The prickles consumed you ages ago and now you're just bathing in it's wrongful essence.
However, it's not fair to let you only get the fun, and so you move onto the next step. She passes you the knife and you shut your ears from nature and get to your knees. She gently drags you closer to a wall where she puts her back to. Trembling and shaking, you hold the knife. You decide to examine it first, after all, this is probably your last moment with it. It's a very well kept knife, luxurious and stunning. If your blood wasn't clotting all over the blade, you could probably see your reflection in the blade. You bring it to your cheek and rub it against you. Bits of dried blood flake off and the wetter parts cause some sort of a red smudge to form. You say over and over how you'll do a good job, a great job, an excellent job. You try to remember her technique but the weakness of sixteen varying stab wounds constantly tries to drag you down. Eventually, after a brief moment of clarity to calm the nerves, you push the knife in as far as you could, using your weak hand's palm to push into the edge. She laughs with every push you take. Once you've finished, it must've been right into her heart. You try to take the knife out but it's too wedged in. You try tugging and tugging but she tells you to stop: the feeling of the blade mixing it all up is distracting her. You let nature push you down, and the last thing you remember after your mutter about feeling sleepy and how much you love her, is your cheek on her chest right next to where the knife is lodged, just focusing on her breaths and heartbeat...
Your disaperance is brought to concern quite quickly and it isn't long before your corpse's location is discovered. The witnesses are horrified at the scene but the camera you set up, recording the entire scene and all your discussion around it, is one of the first things they notice after the initial shock. Despite your seemingly flawless plan, your brain was so distracted and unfocused that you failed to realise that the plan had taken a divergence. You were in too weak of a state to get the wound to kill her, and so she was still laying there, waiting for death to come to her next as she looks down at your lifeless body on top of her. She was taken to hospital. She got stitches and a machine hooked up to her so her heart could still beat properly for the time being, but she was still alive. She broke down in court over the constant stream of horrible messages friends, family and strangers sent her after they found out what she did, but the hospital made sure she'll never try to attempt anything similar ever again, even if living with the guilt of killing someone you really cared about in such a barbaric way is how she will live.
This isn't anything deep, I just wanted to write something edgy. Don't expect a clever message from this.
