Beads of Blood

Contains mental health issues, physical violence, gore, self-harm.

Cassy stood on the cold tile in the bathroom of her hotel room and bound her double Ds tightly against her chest. The invitation to her class reunion lay face up on the floor. Her eyes scanned the gold lettering for the sixth time.

THE CLASS OF 2016 REUNIOUN WILL BE HELD AT ATHENA’S REALM. COSTUME PARTY. PRIZES FOR THE SEXIEST, MOST ORIGINAL, CUTEST, AND MORE. DO YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHAT THE CLASS JOCK WILL DEVISE? WHAT WILL THE CLASS CLOWN COME UP WITH? HAVE AN INKLING AS TO WHAT THE MOST LIKELY TO SUCCEED AND THE BEST DRESSED WILL WEAR? WE CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU!

         She stepped through the doorway onto the faded browns and greens of the paisley carpeting in the living area, well worn by years of shuffling feet. A sugary, woodsy smell of burning dust from the space heater against the far wall tickled her nose and she sneezed. Sauntering passed the mini fridge and the microwave in the tiny kitchenette; she paused beside the bed and lowered herself onto the floor.

To her right was a large beading needle that had been threaded with golden bead wire, newly sharpened scissors, and a slightly used spool of copper infused thread. To her left were the two pairs of stuffed pantyhose that would serve as tentacles for her octopus costume.

 With her back leaning against the bed frame, chin to chest, she clamped a small hunk of flesh above her left hip between finger and thumb and pierced the mass with the thick needle. She reached for the first set of pre-made appendages and attached the waistband of the hosiery’s panty to her skin.

The copper wire burned as she pulled it through the sensitive tissue a bit too quickly, and she winced from the painful sensation. Yet, she continued adhering the octopus tentacles to her waist. Stab, push, pull taut. Stab, push, pull taut. The nylon waistband grew darker as they absorbed the trickling blood and Cassy started feeling faint, but she pressed on. Stab, push, pull taut. When she reached the area just above her naval, the first set of tentacles were affixed to her abdomen. 

She laid the panties of the second set of homemade limbs on the right half of her throbbing belly. Now that she knew what to expect, she braced herself against the pain that would come. She picked up the needle, puckered her brow, and skewered the elastic waistband along with the lobe of skin above her right hip. This time the twine made her itch as it glided through her flesh, and she fought the urge to scratch. Stab, push, pull taut. And when the last two tentacles were attached, she relaxed—just a little.

She wrestled onto her feet, grimacing, her skin tearing around the heavy-duty, wire-infused stitches as she arduously straightened. Grasping the flesh-colored duvet that lay across the foot of the bed, she lumbered toward the door to peer into the floor-to-ceiling mirror. She rested there on her outstretched arms; the duvet draped over her left elbow. She gazed at the image before her, transfixed by her own reflection. The blood that seeped from her wounds created a lovely ombré pattern, the shades of red flowing from a vivid cherry to a rich mahogany. The scarlet lacerations across her midriff had become one with the blood-soaked thread and she was delighted.

She gasped. There was a snag in one of her tentacles. She was already late for the class reunion costume party downstairs, so she agonizingly pushed herself upright and whirled the duvet across her shoulders like a cape. She stlid into her ballet slippers, exited her hotel room, and strolled down the empty hallway to the stairwell leading to the ballroom.               

From the tenth step she had a view of the decorative room below. Mirrors and Halloween decorations adorned the walls. Light from the chandeliers reflected off the marble floor. When Cassy stepped onto the ballroom floor, Tabitha Schooner, her high school bully, was there to greet her. She wore a black leotard and tights. She bared her long, black, manicured nails and hissed like a cat. 

Jerry Bigalow sidled over, the class heartthrob. He was dressed as a Samaria Soldier and Cassy smiled at him. 

Tabitha pointed a bony finger at Cassy, “No, don’t tell me… a Zombie with its intestines falling out,” she sneered. “You have a run in your intestines.”  

The comment made Cassy feel like a failure; she worked so hard on her costume. She looked down to inspect the damage. The snag must have gotten caught on something because there was a long rip where the fabric had unraveled. In her mind, everyone was gawking at her, a familiar look of revulsion on their faces. She had to do something about that hideous run. 

Jerry stepped closer, curious about the blood still oozing from Cassy’s waistline. “What the hell, Cassy?” he bellowed. He then whispered something into Tabitha’s ear. She slid the sash from Jerry’s waist and began wrapping it around Cassy’s open wounds.

Once again, Tabitha is determined to conceal any evidence of my talents by covering my perfect stitchwork, thought Cassy. She launched her knee upward and it connected with Tabitha’s jaw. Blood trickled from the girl's mouth; it appeared as though her tooth had cut her upper lip.  Tabitha took several wobbly steps backward before timbering and slamming the back of her head against the corner of a marble pedestal, crumbling onto the cold, hard floor. Blood leaked from the chasm at the base of her skull creating a widening crimson lake and she looked as though she were asleep on a satin pillow. 

Cassy scanned the screaming crowd and cleared her throat. “Excuse me everyone,” she announced. “I have to repair my costume.” She stepped closer to the desecrated body on the floor, crouched, and clamped onto its ankles with both hands before dragging it toward the stairs. Tabitha’s corpse had a gorgeous set of legs that wore a suitable pair of tights.

END