At first, a whisper in the night. Your name it says sweetly. Like it might want you there in its cave. Like a shadow passing below the waves under the boat, sinister and secretive. Or perhaps a shrouded figure standing in the doorway to your room, itās head slightly tilted. Or the one at the end of your bed, hands tightened around the tools itās brought along. Initially, the whispers were quiet and kind. Now they scream, throwing stuff against the wall so that it shatters.
Like youāre caught in the middle of a storm, between two entities. Like youāre battling out four hundred battles. Confused, strangled with the trouble, they call out to you like a siren to the sailors. Wax, ropes, bindingsā none of it will save you from your deathly fate, for the voice is now so loud, your ears bleed in agony.
Murder.
And itās on my hands. I was doomed from the start of time; the time when my fingers twisted themselves in your hair, burning into your memory. Kisses as smooth as sand, yet as dangerous as the ocean during a storm.
You whispered in my ear: āNothing is ever quite the same with you.ā Your lips closed around mine and the world roared up in flames, thunder cackled down at us, the rain beat us numb. Beat us until there was nothing left.
I watched you slip and fall down the slippery slope... I tried to catch you, believe me, I did. But I was too late, my hands closed on air. I didnāt see it coming, no.
But when the storm calmed and the ocean fell silent, I came to realize what Iād done. Life without you- the ocean without its storm.
āThe knife belongs to me,ā she gasps aloud, her throat closing as her eyes roll in death.
The blade is in her stomach, blood like cranberry runs from her stab wound, more oozes from her mouth. She blinks hard, her mouth agape. Something pierces my back, sharp and cold against my warm flesh.
She grins wickedly, twisting the blade in my back. A scream escapes my lips, I twist over her and she slumps. Together, we bleed matching puddles that meet in the middle.
āI love you,ā she whispers to me quietly. āI love you most,ā I reply as we meet Death.
I let her sink under the waves, a warm tear racing down my cheek. I wipe it away with wet hands and watch her face blur and fade as it drifts a mile down in the water, weights tied to her delicate ankles.
I didnāt mean to kill her, I wanted her gone, of course. But now that her life is gone from this world, I question my actions when her life was in my hands.
āFarewell, my almost lover,ā I whisper into the murk, for I know I will never see her againā not in this life.
Basset hounds after the deer. A lion after a weak zebra. A cat playing with a mouse.
The howls of a new hunt, bark, bark, barking through the tall pines that sway with the breeze of a cloudy, bruised day.
Murder, oh the horror. Crimson on the jaws of a magnificent beast, drip, drip, dripping down its mane, matted in golden fur.
The calls of a bird, tweet, tweet, tweeting from the tops of trees, trapped beneath the paw of a young cat that scaled the tree just to spill blood.
You step out and see blue skies and cotton candy clouds matched by spearmint green grass and chocolate puddles, you see happy animals flitting and skittering.
But look again, my friend.
I see Death itself. Hate, hunger, corpses. But most of all- I see survival at its most dangerous level.
Creeping voices, nails on a chalk board- the closer it gets, the more your heart races with the chantās drum;
One, two- Iām coming for you Three, four- better lock your door Five, six- can you hear my clicks? Seven, eight- youāre the one I really hate Nine, ten- I love your beautiful sin.
The pain and hurt, screaming your name on the nights I felt lost. Thought youād rescue me and you didnāt. I clawed at the walls of my welded cage, hoping to be released. I never dreamt that it was your hands keeping me tied up.
All the efforts into keeping you close, all the cries for your reckless help, the bleeding for the sake of your name. Wellā¦ I guess it was all in vain. You never came back, you never helped.
Falling, plunging down. Youāre smiling, your high has been replenished. You love the feel, the adrenalineā¦ the way you switch between life and death like a black cat with nine lives. You love the sting, the sight from up so high; because falling feels like flying. Until the moment you land.
Once youāve kissed the ground, no longer flying, scraped and broken, you rise. The scars are still there, a word for all who donāt know your story. A word that calls out to others, āweakā.
And so here I write- stories of my own, hoping someone will listen to a broken radio with a repeated message.
Iāve created a monsterā¦ a horrible being with fangs and taloned hands. He slinks, growling and terrifying. Heās insane, a cannibal. Iāve created a monsterā¦ one who seeks darkness and hates light. One who breaks love but encourages hate. One that is angry, maleficent, malice ridden. Iāve created a monsterā¦ that is dangerous.
āWho is this monster?ā You might ask me quietly, your beautiful eyes wide and innocent. You pull the blankets up to your chin and sniffle.
I am the monster- and the monster is I, doll.
