Griefers Incessant

by Anonymous

With quick strokes, I slash at my virtual skin. Holding my slashed virtual wrists up against my face, I watch through the corner of my eye as my virtual blood runs down my arms unchecked, a fine weave of red dripping downwards. Momentarily, they leave the residue of a bloody mess on my face, my high cheekbones and thin nose.
       Ephemerally, I’m drenched in crimson vermillion stigmata. And then, it’s all gone, all my blood, and I’m again this pale white girl, as if my Attempt had not only failed again, but hadn’t even been. The animated blood had ended.
       I look again at my wrists, streaked just an instant ago with crisscrosses of red. I gaze at my virtual skin, textured based on my real skin, and then, in fury, I throw them down. Around me, there is the darkness of my cloister, a solid blackness stemmed only by the grey light streaming through a tiny sliver of a window. It’s exactly like my solitary confinement in real life. My purposeful locking myself away in a forlorn tower of a castle lost in the world. I try to leave, but I just can’t seem to escape It.
       All of a sudden, I start laughing, unable to control myself. I think of what I’m doing, the absurdity of it all. “Get thee to a nunnery!” My insane brother had said to me, and here I am, alone to repent my Sin, as I must, away from the world. But yet, I’m too chicken to do it; I just can’t leave it.