Anthem of a lost soul:

Preface:
This fiction is based on the idea of past experiences that are often mixed with pseudo-truths and reality, where one?s sense of realism is blurred out of proportion. Everything that she sees or hears becomes material for her novel as well as food for her growing paranoia. The story revolves around an authoress, Dione Walker who seems to have fallen into pace with the character she presently writes of. Possibly, having spent too many days anxiously nursing out the book, she had given away too much of herself. Her constant assimilation with her character, Isabella Johnson from the novel The scent of death, shows her growing detachment from the real world. A story within another story. The piece denotes layers of undertones that relate back to Dione?s childhood, wedding followed by divorce and her present mid-life crisis.

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Chapter 1- The scent of death

?Tell me my love, what would be your last request before you cease??
Tyrone chuckled as he tightened his rubbery grasp. The beautiful Isabel, stubborn yet radiant as she looked, was at his mercy. He was after all, as he put it, choking the hell out of her. Her eyes watered and she defiantly strained to look away from her assailant. He had come prepared?

She was tired. Dione had been working on her novel, ?The scent of death? for ages. She had sat bent over her laptop, as she poured out her brains. Now, it was time to relax. With her arms stretched out in front of her, she took a quick glimpse to her side. Strange. Her reflection on the wall mirror seemed a little blurred. It was as if her face had melted into nothingness. Maybe, it was just the fatigue.

She repeatedly pinched and released the skin between her brows in an attempt to release some tension, ?time to get the Ol? Orange juice out of the fridge for a pick-me-up?, she thought aloud. A fainting spell caught her as she stood up with a jump, forcing her to sink back down into her armchair. With a groan that escaped from her parted lips, she closed her eyes in anticipation of the sharp pain in her temple. ?Ouch!? she cried even before she felt anything. Curling up into the chair, with her legs tucked neatly into the soft cushion, she closed her eyes for a while. Just a little while?

***

?Why do we, crucify ourselves?nothing I do is good enough for you, everyday I crucify myself??
The haunting tune had woken with a burst of static, rousing her from an unconscious stupor. Her eyelids fluttered open with much difficulty, as a shot of pain ran across her forehead. Lifting her hand to touch her brow, she realized that she was waist-deep in water, or more specifically, in a bathtub. The last thing she recalled was of the soft humming from her notebook as she fell asleep in the den?s soft chair. She raised her hand and pressed the buttons by the side of the watch. The luminous face lit up. Forty minutes pass six. She dimly remembered that it was only four when she had fallen asleep.

Cold sweat trickled down her back as she unsuccessfully tried to piece together the time lapse. This had happened before. The lack of lighting in the bathroom (the only light source came through the cheap tinted stained-glass on the wall) made her strain her eyes as she tried to peer into the dark bowels of the room. It was almost as if the lights had been kicked in on purpose. Taking in a quick draw of air to steady herself, a wave of nausea hit her. The already suffocating scent of burnt-out mandarin fragrance that clung on to the thickened air had hid a worse stench- the smell of a decaying animal. The scent of death. As quickly as that thought surfaced, she dismissed it and struggled to minimize her breathing.
?Dione? Dear??
A frantic voice echoed across the room as she eased herself over the bath. Wrapped only in a towel found on the floor, she trailed along the wall in search for the switch. Without warning, the door hidden in the darkness suddenly flew open and brilliance flooded in. Aunt Amelia hurried over and took Dione by the arm, gently leading her out into the warm roasted bedroom. She had returned home at half-past six, only to find a ransacked apartment and a missing niece. Water had been seeping from under the bathroom door and she had panicked. Dione looked up into her aunt?s kind face, now creased into a worried frown, and decided against speaking.
?Rest now my dear,?
Aunt Amelia muttered as she tucked Dione tightly into bed. Dione gingerly nodded and turned on her side. This was definitely not the beginning of nothing. Within minutes, Dione had slipped into yet another deep slumber.