Bone Cutter [Original Story]

Dec 11, 2008 16:47

A story based on the poem I wrote, Bone Cutter, Witch Doctor. Worksafe, and I would love some feedback. ^^



He would come once a year. Blow in with the autumn leaves, slippered feet sliding on dead leaves like the hiss of scales against raw silk. He walked with the same plodding pace, always going straight to the tidy little hut that would be his house for the next few weeks.

The children always peered at him; he was an anomaly, something new and different, and besides, they were too young to really understand fear. All they knew, was that he was different, that most people didn’t have those eyes, one dark as coal, the other milky blue, peering at out the corner of the slightly drooping lid, as if it was about to fall out. He dressed differently too, fluttering silken robes, bright colors flowing into another in a riot of orange-red-blue-green. It made the children pluck at their own clothing, drab olive-brown, and wish.

The adults welcomed and feared the appearance of the Bone Cutter. They would come to him, for herbs, cures, charms. For broken limbs, for bad teeth that needed to be pulled. And they would pay him, tiny nuggets of gold, coins, food. Their thanks were short, resentful and they never looked at his eyes, not the black one, not the milky blue one. They hated him, but needed him, so they tolerated his presence, while whispers about him flew thick like flies buzzing around a carcass. So they would sit in that painfully need hut of his, surrounded by the cloying scents of rosemary, frankincense, sandalwood, rising in thick clouds from the folds of robe, lying and smiling through their teeth.

The Bone Cutter would just smile, long, bone pale fingers carefully measuring out herbs and powders.

The teenagers made him into a bet. They understood the fear, but were not yet intelligent enough to stay away from him. There would be challenges, to steal a bottle from the hut, to stay in the hut for 20 minutes, by yourself, when he was gone. The young men who had completed these bets would always make them into point of bragging, telling the overblown story to some wide eyed girl, chest puffing out with their own self-importance.

Vivien decided to take that dare, and make it even better. Because, well, Elsena would surely sleep with him, if he asked to see the scars on the Bone Cutter’s chest.

There were rumors about the scars, how big they were, what they were from. But no one had ever actually seen them. So there was a hushed silence when Vivien proposed his own dare. He has just grinned recklessly, catching Elsena’s starry eyed gaze.

However, it seemed like a different matter, when he was at the hut, staring at the door. Shaking his head, he swallowed hard, told himself he was being stupid, that the Bone Cutter was a man just like the rest of them and walked in.

The interior of the hut was warm, and his senses were assaulted by the sharp scents of herbs blending into an amalgam of bitter-sickly-sweet. The Bone Cutter was sitting there, quietly, in the middle of his floor, carefully measuring powders into packets. Without looking up, he murmured, voice a low, smooth, but clipped, cold.

“What can I do for you?”

“I…um…” Vivien swallowed hard, mouth dry. The words that he wanted to say suddenly failed him, and he wondered if this really a good idea after all.

“I see.” That deep voice rumbled, and the Bone Cutter gave Vivien a faint smile, lips hiding his teeth. “Is this a little dare from your friends?”

Vivien found that he could only nod. He could not look the Bone Cutter in the eye, so he just stared at the swirling patterns of his cloak.

“And so what did you bet your little friends, mmm?”

“I-” Vivien whispered, and then fell silent.

“Come closer lad, and speak up.” The Bone Cutter murmured, beckoning.

Vivien slowly approached him, kneeling in front as if unconsciously compelled.

“That I would see your scars.” He whispered weakly, finally looking up.

“Ah. I see.” The Bone Cutter showed no anger, nothing but faint amusement. “You want to see these?” He continued on, pulling his robe open, exposing a pale, narrow chest, almost skeletally thin. But Vivien didn’t see the how the bone cutter was as pale as a corpse, or how the almost translucent skin was sucked flat against jutting ribs whenever he inhaled. He just saw the deep, deep scars, thick, ropy, forming a perfect “y” on his chest.

“What…” Vivien whispered, fingers twitching.

“Now, that’s a secret.” The Bone Cutter murmured, noticing Vivien’s fingers twitching. “Go on. Touch them, if you like.”

With a sort of shuddering revulsion, but unable to stop himself, Vivien reached out, the very tips of his fingers brushing against the scars. The Bone Cutter’s skin was icy cold against his fingers, searing him to the core, but he could stop tracing the thick scars, mesmerized. Soon he wasn’t sure if it was the Bone Cutter’s skin was cold, or if it was just his own fingertips, and maybe the other man’s skin was really burning hot.

The Bone Cutter just smiled, revealing small, perfect teeth.

+++

The Bone Cutter left the next day, hefting his heavy pack onto his back. He ignored the flurry of activity, ignored the frantic woman calling out for Vivien, and if anyone had seen her boy. The noise grated on his ears, irritating as a horsefly. He strode out from the pathetic little outpost of human civilization, his cloak fluttering behind him. The swirls of colors, near the bottom of his cloak, resolved into a face, if one bothered to look close enough. But no one did.

original

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