Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
Madness and endless stimulation became the main theme of Claire's life. Without them, it seemed as if she had lost herself. She paid no attention to the fact that these abnormal things, due to her evasion and fear, had instead become tools for her self-deception.
Claire had never truly escaped the guilt and pain of having killed Mark. No matter how much she tried to disguise it, no matter how strong and confident she presented herself to the outside world, deep down she always knew that it was she who had killed Mark. That secret was like an indelible stain, deeply imprinted on her soul.
She stood somewhat vacantly in front of the bathroom mirror, her gaze blankly fixed on her reflection. There was a strangeness in her eyes, as if she could not even recognize the face staring back at her. Once, she had been so confident in her beauty and charm, but now all she saw was a woman exhausted by the torment of inner guilt and pain.
"Is this me?" Claire whispered to herself, gently touching the mirror's surface and feeling its coldness. Her complexion was pale, and her eyes had lost their former sparkle.
Suddenly, the image in the mirror distorted, gradually revealing another face—Mark's, contorted with rage, blood still dripping from his gaping wounds. Claire jumped back in shock, fear causing her to stumble slightly as she braced herself against the sink.
"Claire, what's wrong?" Mark's voice was cold and deep, as if emanating from the depths of the mirror. His eyes were fixed on Claire with a look of accusation and mockery. "Do you think you can escape everything?"
Claire blinked hard and looked back at the mirror; Mark's image had vanished, leaving only her pale face behind. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down, but the tide of fear and guilt surged within her.
However, outside the bathroom came the thumping bass of music—the sound of the party. Her supporters and followers were still reveling, enjoying this endless feast. To them, Claire remained that brave and strong leader, a hero in their hearts.
"Claire, where are you?" A friend's voice called from outside, tinged with urgency and concern.
Claire inhaled deeply, striving to pull herself together. She knew she couldn't let others see her vulnerability. She had to continue this performance, to keep playing that all-powerful role.
"I'm here," she replied, her voice sounding confident and resolute. She tidied her hair to ensure she still looked glamorous before pushing open the bathroom door and stepping into the music-filled chaos of the party.
In the lights and sounds of the celebration, Claire transformed back into the center of attention. She smiled, engaged in conversation, relishing the compliments and flattery. Yet that guilt and pain within her never faded; they were merely buried deep inside her heart.
"This is my life," Claire silently told herself, forcing herself to accept this reality. She knew that this crazy game could not stop, because once it did, she would have to face the unbearable truth within her.
"Keep going, Claire, keep up the performance," she said to herself, wearing a charming smile while her eyes revealed a hint of helplessness and despair.
The party was wild and chaotic, with indescribable items scattered across the floor: condoms, lingerie, empty bottles, and scattered pills thrown about carelessly. There were puddles of sticky liquid on the floor, a mix of alcohol and other unidentifiable substances. This party was held in the name of "a great victory for women's rights," but it was clear that these so-called feminists were not truly there for women's rights. They were lost in hedonism, using "victory" as an excuse for indulgence.
Claire sat on the couch, the neon lights dancing on her face, casting shadows that made her expression seem heavy. She silently inhaled marijuana smoke, trying to numb herself this way. The sensory overload around her stung her eyes, yet she felt nothing at all. Her vision blurred, and her ears filled with laughter, screams, and the vibrations of music, as if she were in an absurd dream.
The crowd around her moved wildly on the dance floor, men and women touching and kissing each other without regard for their surroundings. A few people in the corner were smoking, the haze swirling around them as the lights illuminated their intoxicated faces like a chaotic modern art piece. The table was covered with various bottles and pills; when one person collapsed carelessly, another immediately took their place to continue the revelry.
"Claire, come dance!" a friend shouted loudly, pulling at her hand in an attempt to lift her from the couch.
Claire forced a smile and shook her head. "I'm tired; you all go have fun."
Her friend sighed in disappointment and turned back to join the throng of revelers. Claire watched their retreating figures, filled with contradictions and emptiness. She knew this party was just a means of escaping reality, but every time night fell silent, that guilt and pain still lingered like a shadow.
A couple tangled before her, kissing and touching each other unabashedly without regard for their surroundings. Claire's gaze grew increasingly vacant as if all of this had nothing to do with her. She took another deep drag of marijuana smoke, feeling it spread in her lungs, bringing a momentary numbness.
"This is our victory, Claire!" a radical feminist approached her loudly waving a bottle of alcohol. "We have finally broken our chains and gained freedom!"
Claire forced a smile and nodded but felt a twinge of sarcasm inside. Freedom? Was she really free? Or had she merely jumped from one cage into another, forever unable to escape that inner torment?
Claire slowly lit up a second joint, taking a deep drag and letting the smoke fill her lungs. Suddenly, a man beside her said, "Hey... Claire, looks like you've been... living quite well lately?"
Claire did not turn around, a cold smile forming in her heart as she knew it was just another man who had set his sights on her, hoping for a comfortable one-night stand at this party. She was all too familiar with these men; they were always drawn to her beauty and reputation, thinking they could gain something from her.
Today, however, she was not in the mood for that. Without looking at the man, she casually replied, "Oh, really? Feminists should always maintain a fighting spirit." She exhaled a puff of smoke, her gaze still fixed on the air in front of her. "By the way, did you know I particularly dislike men?"
The man's laughter came out awkwardly. "Uh... is that so? Shouldn't we talk about something else then?"
"No need," Claire said coldly, her tone laced with frost. "I think you should find someone else. I'm not in the mood to entertain you tonight."
The man paused for a moment, clearly taken aback by Claire's blunt rejection. He chuckled awkwardly, mumbled a few words, and reluctantly turned to leave.
As Claire watched him walk away, a sense of fatigue and weariness washed over her. She knew she was still viewed as prey by those men; no matter how much she portrayed her strength and independence, she could not escape the fate of being objectified and used.
"Fighting spirit?" she laughed self-deprecatingly, taking a deep drag from her marijuana cigarette and feeling the brief numbness that the smoke brought. She understood that this fight was meaningless; it merely masked the emptiness and guilt within her.
The neon lights continued to pulse, and the madness and chaos of the party carried on. Claire sat on the sofa, staring vacantly at everything before her. She knew this performance could not stop; she had to keep playing the role of the omnipotent figure until the very last moment.
Comment 0 Comment Count