The Malignant Deity

There is an omnipotent being called a Trickster who controls all of the suffering in our lives and takes pleasure in guiding us into misfortune. In this story, he takes an interest in an unhappy family of four, each with their own personal desires. The narrative follows the lives of each of the individuals, and shows their reactions to their new found, and fickle, happiness.

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3. Her False Sanctuary

While her home held no comfort or consolation, surely her educational life should have become her safe haven? This was not the case for Amelia Day; her school was merely the place for useless warfare left unpunished. She walked down the corridor, trying to evade the attempts of battle surrounding her. With her eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front she hurried across the glossy, unforgiving floor clutching her books to her chest, into her lesson, the gateway to her dissatisfaction.

After having grinded her talents down to their nubs the classroom held no value for Amelia. She felt that knowledge did not hold the pathway to her desires, so she paid no interest in the wisdom of the teacher. Instead she inscribed the name of her obsession onto the front of her textbook in a biro, to be later framed by a permanent marker; Marcus Thorne. By tilting her head slightly towards the window and moving a few strands of her untamed hair she could see him. To her it was right that he white light of the day should embody his form, making him as angelic as he was in her mind. He had a chiseled face with symmetrical features, placed on top of a body that seemed to be made entirely of muscle. With a few folds and creases he managed to make the lacklustre school uniform forced onto everybody into a costume, making his rugged figure seem far too masculine for a teenager. Everything about him achieved a deeper desire in Amelia; the rise and fall of his chest, his legs crossed at the ankles, the way he flicked his fringe with a simple pivot of his neck. Unfortunately, these small gestures managed to seduce every other girl in the vicinity, and even a few of the secreted males, so while Amelia dreamt of him seeing her for a partner, she had a lot of competition, the majority of which deemed her as an unworthy opponent.

As if to prove her thoughts, a snigger from behind awoke her from her fantasies. With some idea of what she might see, she dared to sneak a glance and was greeted with the sight of the popular clique, seated at the back of the classroom. It was obvious that Amelia herself was the topic of their humour, what with their exacting gazes bearing down on her accompanied by a parade of manicured nails on the end of dainty fingers. They were exact copies of one another, all filling the criteria to be accepted into the embrace of popularity. Usually their taunts and accusations, typically concerning her slightly above average weight, brought nothing more than a sigh from Amelia, one of her father’s traits.

But on that day they were particularly cruel. Whispers echoed, surrounding her and soon she was taking fire from every direction, all of which struck her soul unnoticed by the oblivious teacher. A pain started in her chest, growing with every syllable and sound; her emotions could not take this barrage of insults. As her breathing increased she tilted her head and saw her crush. He turned and looked straight at her with his unbelievably blue eyes; the first look they had shared. He smirked; then turned to look out the window. This final act imploded inside of Amelia, tearing up whatever confidence and withstanding had remained. The pain gripped her heart like a vice, crushing it into an unrecognisable pulp. He didn’t see her as a person; he saw her as an excuse.

Amelia could take no more. She ran from the classroom in a flurry of tears, leaving behind a trail of jeers and paper made weaponry. Perhaps the teacher had finally noticed, but it no longer mattered; the damage had been done. Through the glaze of salted water she succeeded in making her way to the bathroom, her usual destination. Fortunately there were no other occupants, and she raced into one of the cubicles before kneeling down and shoving two fingers on the same hand down her throat. Immediately her stomach erupted, giving way to her unprocessed lunch. It did not take long, and soon Amelia was lying on the cubicle floor with her head resting on the toilet seat, watching her vomit combining with the water. Using her remaining energy she pressed the lever at the side, and observed that little part of her vanishing as if it meant nothing, being replaced by the prettier sight of clean water, a sight that people would be happy to see.

After reclaiming some energy Amelia stood and made her way, slowly and surely, to the mirror positioned across the opposite wall. She did not know how long she had been there, but it did not surprise her that no one had come to ascertain her safety. Looking at her reflection, she realised that she had no hope of gaining entrance to either the elites or Marcus’ heart, both of which she felt she needed; her looks simply didn’t fit the criteria. Her eyes should have glowed the latest colour of the trends, not red with tears. Her hair should have been tied back in some way to show her perfect face covered in luxurious powders and paints, not uncontrollably covering her inexpensive, undermined grimace. Her lips should have been covered in luscious red, not acidic bile.

Only after asserting these faults did Amelia start to see them resolve themselves. Her appearance changed before her, and suddenly she was looking at a girl who was happy. Covered in fakery and an impractical outfit, she finally felt that she looked beautiful. And it showed; she was surrounded by everyone, the centre of attention. Even the callous beings in her class worshiped her on their hands and feet. But the one thing that called out to Amelia, making her heart bleed, was the vision of Marcus Thorne by her side, looking into her eyes with utter adoration.

She almost leaped into the cheap-cut glass, screaming for the sight to become real while yet more unforgivable tears made their tracks on her face, but caught herself just long enough to whisper,

“This mirror speaks true; I need them all to love me, but none more than him.”

Amelia then closed her eyes, breathed in and whispered in her frail tone,

“I want him to reciprocate my adoration.”

With a lasting cry that echoed around the pathetic walls she crumpled in a heap, her chest buckling with each final tear and cry. Then she closed her eyes, and darkness ensued.

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