Julija’s horror story
Day 1
220
Dawn. — She witnesses the sunrise but goes to bed right away.
In the afternoon. — Breathes in the fresh, ‘green’ air. “WHY DO I ALWAYS REMEMBER DIFFERENT SMELL??? NO, NO, NO, I LOVE the pink colour, but not the Sun itself. Go away, go away, go away!
Dusk. — God. Imagine stopping the motion … No sunrise. Why can’t the next night be eternal?”
She tries to end herself every night. At 0:00, she uses the rope, faints, yet wakes up every time. “Why not simply lie in the bed? It’s way more comfortable.”
Moving up the stony staircase – slowly, slowly, like a ghost with her eyes half-closed; looking down, her hair is down.
Day 2
221
“It took me one hour and forty-five minutes to wash my hair. Every third day. It’s taking too long.”
She tries to hang herself every day because a voice told her, “One day, you will die.”
“What does die even mean?
The morning light is here, yet I’m still alone. Did I even have a mother? Was I born? I don’t know.” Looks at the edge of the forest.
222
It’s 5 a.m.. “Disgusting Sun is coming again.”
She must move; she can’t let the sun touch her. “I would burn … but not die. The forever flower … I am … the forever flower.” She imagines the rain falling on the flower; she imagines herself licking the flower.
“Wait … what if I drown myself. Bath … yes.” The sangre azul she sees beneath the water.
“I have no language. I am nothing. Today is not the time for hair.” Her pale skin is smiling in the mirror – so beutiful, so calm. She holds her hair. “Why can’t i die?”
Looks out of the window. “The sky … so beautiful.” Gasp. “The clouds are falling! Oh beauty … so beautiful … Today … I will die. And I realize … the cold sky suits me. Blue twilight sky … like my veins.”
Day 3
223
Her final words. But she does not die. Wakes up at 5 a.m. dangling. She is twitching; her hair is down. Convulsing – but not dying.
“Ah.” Sigh. Unties the knot.
She rises her fist to her heart – why won’t it stop beating?
“Oh sun, star: why are you so bodalast?” (– daggery)
…
“IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL! THE ORANGE COLOUR! THE OMNIPRESENT ORANGE COLOUR! THIS IS PARADISE!! Sun .. please … don’t come today. Not today. Please, stop. Don’t move.
Give me an eternal night.
AAAAH! I CAN’T EVEN STARE AT YOU! BECAUSE YOU’RE SO BRIGHT!”
224
Her pale hand touches the white wall. “What am I? I think I used to have servants … but now I have to serve myself. Disgusting, disgusting …
Dropping the shutters. Rushing from one window to another. Trembling. Her hands are shaking.
Her nails have turned to pale white as well. “Why? Maybe my fingers have always been like this. Maybe … my mind is dying.”
A voice: “One day … YOU WILL DIE.”
It’s embarrasing, yes, but she walks around the house half-naked. Head down, hair down, trembling. She is quite naked.
“Perhaps tonight … the noose will not fail me. At any rate,” she recalls, “didn’t I wear a black dress?” – Yes, it would fit her pale skin.
No … There is no black dress to be found. The closet holds … her past clothes … but she must not open it.
“I think the next night is the final night: my death. What is wrong with my life?” Stares at the edge of the forest. “There is no final evening. Just endlessness. Or is it? Perhaps one day …”
225
The house produces no sound. The deafening silence.
“My finger-nails have become pale like my skin … Why?”
It’s so beautiful outside: the blue-grey sky … and the green meadow, forest … “So beautiful.”
Her eyes are always half-closed. Her eye-lashes are so long, so long. A friend would say, “Cut your eye-lashes.”
Covering her pale blue eyes after she wakes up. “Stop. Stop. Stop staring at me. I can’t live like this any more. Too bright … Why is this world so bright … Today … Wait – what do I do today? Oh … I need to die. But why doesn’t it work … Nothing works: drowning in the bath … does not work. Slashing my throat with a kitchen knife? But that’s disgusting …”
A voice: “One day, you will die.”
226
“When did my finger-nails become as pale as my skin? Wasn’t the colour under my finger-nails … red? It’s white now. Why?”
Her hand is shaking. She’s shaking, while holding her white, pale neck. Her house: as if frozen in time. Nobody ever comes. It’s as though it does not exist.
Screaming: “No, I can’t live like this any longer! AaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”
The wind howls outside. But it’s not sensible.
“I think this is crazy: at one point, it was 10 a.m.; now, it’s 19:45. Why can’t Sun, time, whatever stop spinning. Gross. Disgusting.”
It’s evening. She will have to slip into the noose again.
She looks at her hand. “You will die for nothing.”
227
It’s 20:16. “I missed the golden hour. Brava. I have no language. I have no nation. I am nothing.” Puts her hand on her skin … – it’s sweating. She cries. Tears are dropping down her face. “I must die. Today, I will die. Imagine if I die falling down a cliff. Someone would check me. And I would have to pretend I am dead. Eyes open. But breathing?” Tears drop down her pale face. “Mmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmmm…”
No words. Just tears flowing down: “Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” Hands trembling.
The tears are watering her skin. She uses them to wash her skin. Her trembling hands are used to wash her with the tears.
“Why are my fingers pale? I used to have rosy fingers.”
It’s 21:40. “Why is time flying so fast? No, no, no … Why are you moving so fast …” Touches her face with both hands, breathes. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH– okay, stop. Stop. Stop.” Looks at her own corpse in spirit. Shrieks. Cries, cries, cries.
She doesn’t scream out loud – just in spirit.
She is on her knees, weeping in spirit: “Mmmmmmmmmmmm, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” – In her spirit voice.
The noose is waiting. Perhaps today?
Day 4
228
She is shaking. She is convulsing – but still conscious.
“I failed.”
She has been convulsing for 1 hour.
“Please … just let me die.”
Imagines herself falling from a mountain, red blood adorning her corpse. A villager witnesses her ‘death’. Twitching. But it’s fake.
229
“One day, you will die? What if it’s today? It’s 00:15 now. It used to be 12:00 a.m. But time flows. It’s nowing, nowing …
It’s 00:32. Darkness. Pitch black.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm… Again the rope.”
When she starts to hang, during the first minute, she stops breathing. But then the breathing resumes. She gives out a sigh when she hangs herself. She becomes too tired for words. No more words … Just her left twitching hand touching her neck and upper torso. Her body starts to twitch.
A voice: “Don’t worry. Tonight, she will die.”
“My mother hates me.” Imagines herself falling down, her blood pouring from the body. “My mother would … hate me … “You are disgusting.” Tears pouring down her cheeks. “You are pathetic. Ew.”
“Mmmmmmmmmmmm… hhhhhhhhhhhh… ahhhhhhhhhhhh…” Moving in her bed. “I am nothing … I have no mother … just endlessness.
Mmmmmmmmmh… hhhhhhhhhhhh…” Turning. Turning. Turning.
She is stroking her neck. “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmh… kill me.”
She said, “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm-mmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM…” convulsing, shaking her shoulders – as if out of habit.
Weeping. “Why can’t I die?” Lying in the bed, eyes closed, hugging her pillow.
Her shaking hands touch her mouth, her face. “Please, let me die.”
She remembers the words: “One day, you will die.” Starts laughing, “…hhhhhhh… hahahahah-HAHAHAHA!” with her eyes closed, hugging the pillow. Moving, moving, moving her legs. “I have no mother …” She doesn’t even open her mouth; her mouth is closed.
230
“Ow, my head.” Touching her head. “I can’t stand this ritual anymore. It’s grotesque. This existence. It’s painful. PAINFUL! I can’t go through this ritual anymore … Why can’t I die? The hair washing ritual. Two hours … So long and sad.”
There is nothing in her house. Nothing but silence. She even makes sure to step quietly so as to not upset the silence.
“No more thoughts … Too tired … I just want to sleep, sleep, sleep forever. This … existence … or whatever you can call it, makes no sense; it’s …. what even is IT? Who … what … where … am I … what is THIS? Ow, my head.” Touches her head, shaking.
Head down, hair down. Hands shaking in front of her.
Hands shaking. “I can’t do this, I can’t do this … Please … let me die today. You said it yourself: ‘One day, you will die.’ Ah. Thank you, thank you! Thank you, thank you … THANK YOU, THANK YOU THANK YOU!!”
At one point, she stops. Looking at the white wall, she begins to weep. Tears are coming down her face.
Drops to bed. “I hate these rituals … Stop my heart. Stop it. Stop it. It’s so hard to break free from this existence … I can’t move.” Starts kicking in her bed.
She is saying these words in spirit; she does not move her mouth. It would be too vulgar.
231
She is shaking. “…mmmmmmmmmmmmmm… let me go, let me go, I’m in pain. It hurts so much … I can’t do this any more. I CAN’T HANDLE THIS HAIR ANY MORE! SO LONG. SO LONG. SO LONG.”
It’s over. Perhaps that day has come.
“Why did my finger-nails turn white. They were rosy before.”
A voice: “There has got to be a medical explanation … no … ?”
“I’m anemic? But I used to have rosy finger-nails … There was colour underneath … Now it’s just white. Strange. Strange.
Yes … today … must be the day. I will go … I will leave this absurdity …” Begins to shake. “It’s so unreal. What is this existence … I don’t understand.”
A voice: “I want her to depart this time. It’s sad, but her ‘life’ is unbearable.”
The twitching returns. The fingers are moving. She is convulsing. ‘Back to life’.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmm, hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” Kicking with her legs half-asleep. “Why.”
Again she was on the cold, white staircase. She returns to bed.
232
At the upper end of the staircase, she prepared the footstool, like always, to stand on. When she talks, it’s only in spirit; the house is horrifically quiet. There is no sound in the house. Yes, perhaps her moving legs … – the sheet may produce some sound … and that’s it.
“Perhaps if I would–” The sound in her head starts skipping. “Why do I even … ? I don’t understand. I have no language, no nation … I am nothing. I live for nothing. Alright, alright, time’s up. I have to go now. I heard it: ‘Today, you will die.’ This is it! It’s time to go now! Yes! This is it … Yes! This is it!!”
This is it. She looks at her once-rosy fingernails … and sighs … “This is it.” Her pale hands bring the noose over her head. “Yes, finally.” Caresses the rope.
The noose tightens … she takes a step forward and floats.
Day 5
233
There is nothing but silence. The silence is sickening. It’s deafening. Her pale fingers stopped touching the neck at last. They are motionless now.
… The final convulsion – the soul is leaving the body …
234
Me: “I can’t put my heart out and hold it – I wish i could. I still can’t get over the … sun motion …”
Sobs. Holds a mirror.
“The morning won’t go away for me today.
The morning is here … at this moment … and it will not go away.
… The golden hour is here.”