White

Everything was white. Everything. There wasn't a shadow to be seen anywhere, no contrast, no shapes, no sound. Everything was blank... Insipid. He couldn't hear or feel his heart anymore. The vast nothingness had engulfed the world it seemed, and in its stead left a void where an artist's brush would have had infinite canvas to paint. He tired of looking at the same blank sheet of nothing, and he closed his eyes in hopes of finding darkness there. Alas, he wasn't so lucky. There, behind his lids, there was also nothing but white. Just as he was starting to go mad with delusion, a table appeared out of nowhere like it had always been there. He laughed, or he thought he did, but there came no sound; a deafening silence was all that seemed to exist. Regardless, the table was so beautiful to behold standing in stark contrast to the nothingness around. It was mahogany, he could tell. Polished and well-crafted; he ran a hand over the smooth surface and noticed, much to his surprise, that as his hand traveled further, images faded into being. Compelled by this strange discovery, he continued pulling his palm over the surface and noticed that the table's length seemed to go on forever; that is, until the impossible number of images suddenly stopped appearing and his hand found the end of the surface. He noticed all the images were of himself over time.

"Blue Beard," He didn't hear the voice with his ears. It was within his mind. He looked up to see a man in a suit. He looked like a mannequin one might see in a store. His face was blank. No eyes, no mouth, no ears. Just the shape of a head and the body clothed in a penguin suit. Blue Beard took a step back trying to speak.

"'Tis time," With those words, the world went pitch black only for a moment, and then a scene of astounding luxury spanned out before him. A large house with fine decor with long hallways lined with velvet, a wide winding staircase leading up to another floor, a majestic dining hall and bedrooms suited for royalty. Most of all, the sound of a small orchestra playing in the background. Blue Beard forgot all about the blank nothingness all at once. He knew this place: his home.

Blue Beard stopped as he saw himself cross the corridor taking long and fast steps grasping something tightly in his hand. It flashed a reflection of light, but Blue Beard couldn't quite glimpse what it was. How could it be that he could see himself like this? His curiosity led him to follow himself into the kitchen, but as he did, he noticed scarlet droplets on the white tiles. He looked up to see a stained carving knife grasped in his other self's hand. He watched himself go to the sink and wash the blade clean. He scrubbed furiously even once it was shimmering, but soon stopped and replaced it in the wooden stand on the counter.

"That was the first time you'd killed," again the voice in his mind. Blue Beard spun around to see the mannequin facing him. The blank face terrified him, and he quickly looked away.

The scene changed again, this time Blue Beard saw himself as a teenager. He had blue stubble on his cheeks and on his chin. A beautiful young girl stood looking down at the kneeling young gentleman before her, offering her a daisy as a promise of his love. She stared at the flower and then at young Blue Beard, turned calmly and walked away. The boy stay on one knee staring after the girl he'd first loved in shock. He stood slowly and deposited the flower in a fountain as he walked away.

Blue Beard remembered the day clearly. It had been the first rejection of his oddly colored facial hair. There had been many more to come as his beard grew more prominent, and as often as he tried to shave it clean, it only grew back thicker. It had become a full and thick beard by the time he realized that shaving it had no beneficial effect.

Women were disgusted by the oddity and averted their eyes; some so much as ran away at the sight of him. However, Blue Beard understood a woman's heart better than one might expect. He knew that looks were not everything, and if he could become rich and charismatic, then he could surely find a wife. He had been born to a cut-throat business man of a father, and a charming personality for a mother. With the help of both, he grew to be a powerful aristocrat.

At last his efforts were repaid when a young woman agreed to marry him, but he knew what she was truly marrying him for. His title, his money, his possessions. He knew it all too well. She did not love him, and it disgusted him. However, Blue Beard hid it well. On the night of their honey moon, he'd hidden the carving knife under his pillow while the Mrs. had been in the bathroom freshening up. When she lay down to sleep, he'd killed her. He had been clean about it, and quick. He left her remains in that room, which was later to turn into a grave for all his subsequent wives.

"What made you do it?" Asked the mannequin with no trace of emotion.

Blue Beard thought about it, then replied, "Merely that I could. Just as all the women rejected me, shunned me and used me. They did those things because they had the freedom to do so. Why not I as well? I had the freedom to take their lives. And I did."

The mannequin remained impassive.

The scene changed once more.

Suddenly he saw the setting change to one of his many country seats. The dining hall was decorated with flowers and silk banners in the high ceilings. There came sounds of merriment everywhere: the clinking of wine glasses, the clicking of expensive shoes on tile, the low buzz of chatter and the occasional ring of laughter. Among the crowd stood two lovely young ladies. Both tall and thin, both beautiful, elegant and graceful. They stood holding their glasses surrounded by other guests talking gaily. One had long blonde ringlets falling artfully from the braid rolled up on her head, she wore a pearl silk dress and white gala gloves that traveled the length of her forearm. Her eyes were a sparkling cerulean blue. She was the eldest of the two sisters. The other was a little shorter, with ringlets of chocolate brown hair tied up with a yellow ribbon. Her dress was a pale shimmering orange. Her eyes were a playful aquamarine shining under the chandeliers.

This party had been organized in hopes of making a bride of one of them for himself. He entertained with his natural charm and gave generously to his guests. He took the men fishing and hunting, and for the women he had massive warm baths where they could spend their time relaxing and pampering themselves. His plan went over so well that the youngest daughter was able to overlook his blue beard and developed feelings for the elegant man. Soon after their return to the city, they were wed.

"After the first three women, I never intended to kill again, you know." Blue Beard said suddenly. "I locked their remains away in the room with my first deceased wife, and I promised to never open that door again. For I fell in love, you see."

The mannequin appeared to be listening.

"But I would have to go away on business, and I left my keys to my love. I left her in freedom of all but the one room which I forbid she ever see. Upon my return, the key was blood stained, my wife a hysterical mess, and I knew she had gone in. In my rage, I killed her as well." Blue Beard did not avert his eyes from the the image of himself standing at the altar with the younger sister looking up at him adoringly. "After that, it became a cycle. After some time, it was merely a game to see which wife could live the longest. A game to see who could deny their curiosity for the largest length of time."

Blue Beard felt the adrenaline from the memories rush back to him. "I became obsessed with killing. And soon that room was my pride, I held it as my trophy room for all the games I had won. Not once had I lost. I had proved to all who had once run from me in disgust, I had proved to all the women who had married me for nothing more than what I possessed, that I had conquered."

The mannequin stood with its hands folded together behind its back saying nothing.

The memories progressed, and soon Blue Beard saw the image of his remembered self giving the keys to his new young and beautiful wife. He allowed her free reign of all things in the mansion, but he strictly forbid her the one door. He left the key in her possession and made to leave for business in the country. In truth, he merely took a carriage to the back of the mansion and climbed in a window to watch the progression of events. No sooner had he stepped out had a congregation of eager friends and relatives hurried to the house to partake in all it offered. They excitedly explored the mansion together, gawking at what finery the man of the house had acquired over the years. He watched as his wife kept looking at the little key to the door he had forbidden her. He knew all too well that it would not be a day before she opened it to discover his several dead wives inside. Indeed he was correct as she soon hurried over to the door, looking unsure, but turned the key in the lock and watched as it creaked open. She gasped, and with shaking hands pulled the door closed once more and locked it. However, upon the key remained a blood stain that Blue Beard watched her attempt to clean with everything she could think of. But the stain would not come out, it was like magic.

Blue Beard bided his time to let the fear consume his wife with more prominence of each passing day. A week from the day he had made to leave, he returned and asked for the keys back. His wife brought him them to him with the one to his trophy room missing. Feigning shock and anger, Blue Beard ordered the key be brought to him at once. His wife hurried off to retrieve it and handed it to him hesitantly. He immediately noticed the blood stain and nearly broke into a smirk. He contained himself though, and he roared out in anger declaring that now she would have to die with the rest of his wives.

"Despite how many times I had killed before without being caught once, I had never expected that she would call for help in those short moments when I went to fetch my blade and call her down to me. That too had become one of my pleasures; if they did not come to me, I would come to them. I gave them the choice of obeying me or making me chase them to their inevitable demise. But this time her sister had been just outside the window, and she was watching for her brothers to arrive. And arrive they did, just when I had her hair in my hands and the blade at her throat. They arrived and they killed me..."

Blue Beard trailed off as he watched the last of his life's memories. He watched as his own blood was spilled, and his last wife was spared his blade.

The mannequin came around to stand ahead of him.

"You have condemned yourself, Blue Beard, to Hell. There is no place for you in Heaven."

Afraid for the first time, Blue Beard drew away with his hands out protectively. "What of Hell?"

"It is eternal suffering. The soul wishes for death, but does not find its peace. The soul wishes for relief, but only finds excruciating, endless Hell. Farewell."

The last thing he saw was the blank face before he was banished to the eternal damnation of his soul. The blank face of nothingness that taunted him. The blank canvas of an artist who lifted the brush, but never painted. The blank face of unaccomplished satisfaction. His Hell was white.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Okay! So, I worked a little while on this. I think my favorite character is the mannequin xD Love him.

Well, read and review. C'mon, I worked hard on this!

The title was actually a last minute thing. I hadn't planned for the color white to be such a prominent theme. It just came to me that way. I think I had the most fun writing the dialogues. This took approximately two hours to write, and I've edited it now three or four times. So please leave your feedback if you do happen to read this. Thanks!