|This Handful of Glass
Author: A. Murray PM
Sammy invoked her name and saw only himself. a slight coda for Bloody Mary, speculative and slightly creepy.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Horror - Sam W. - Words: 423 - Reviews: 2 - Favs: 1 - Published: 08-12-11 - Status: Complete - id: 7278628
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Title: This Handful of Glass
Disclaimer: I own only a love for black licorice and the B+ I surely would have earned in Home Ec, would I have gone to a school that had such a class. I do not own Supernatural, Sam, angels or demons, nor a lock of Jensen's hair. Whoa, that was creepy. But its what ff dot net gets for making me do this. :/
Summary: Sammy invoked her name and saw only himself.
Characters: Sam, (general reference to Bloody Mary aka Mary Worthington)
Notes: a coda of sorts for Bloody Mary. Slightly uncannon, hopefully creepy, and written in second person -my personal favorite :)
Word Count: 240
Scattered pieces on the floor. You crawl through the wreckage, your palms flat in the ruins of the mirrors. They pierce your skin; your mind; your heart.
Wipe the blood from your eyes, boy. No need to cry.
She'd seen your hidden places. Straight through you like your flesh and bones weren't there. Like all you were was the corpse of the terrible past you've tried to bury. She'd seen it all: every secret, every fear, every quiet howl you had stuffed into the cracks and crevices of your soul.
Your fragile, fractured little soul.
Sharp teeth of her broken realm bite into your hands and knees but you don't heed the pain. You're looking for her, any fragmented piece of her that might be left. Searching for meaning that maybe only she can give to your tormented dreams; to your blood-soaked nightmares.
A mountain of mirror sits in the palm of your hand, reflecting a thousand tiny images of your sad, wretched face. But its only a handful of glass for she's gone, vanquished. Her thirst for vengeance her very undoing.
Your brother drags you away as police sirens approach. But everything remains with you, sticking in you like shards of the glass you'd knelt in; terrifying you.
Perhaps you're not so very different, you and the tortured woman of the mirror.
Bloody Sammy. Bloody Sammy. Bloody Sammy.
Perhaps it's only a matter of time before you shatter too.
last note: this idea came about while I was preparing my grocery list (which just goes to prove that inspiration strikes at the craziest of times) and was later joined together with the brief mental image of Sam rooting around in the wreckage of Mary's mirror like a madman. A slightly speculative drabble but I hope it was enjoyed.