I didn’t mean to kill him. I was just trying to scare him. I didn’t know he’d lunge at me. It’s not my fault, it’s his. He cheated, he yelled, he lunged into the knife. Yeah, I jumped into the knife. I never stabbed him I was just holding it. Right? The blood stained knife drops from my finger tips as I realize what I’ve done. His dewy dull eyes stare up at me, his pale hand clenching the stab wound right in the heart. I need to hide the body. With what little strength I have left I drag his cumbersome body to the woods out side our house. _Fuck I forgot my shovel. _I bolt with every bone in my body back to the shed and make loud clanks as I dig for it. Then I find it. The rusted pole of the shovel connected to the silver spoon stares me down as I yank it and dash back. But I’m too late. Our neighbor hopped the fence and found his lifeless form with the phone already up to his ear with the police talking calmly. As this one little mistake out of rage, ruins my life.

Green and blue Your a gem piece Sit on a throne Of fire and stone Your writings are A reflection

Who said handsome woman where a bad thing? Spider-Man could be your Post reality

Blades with colors so crimson You’d lick it, then stick it in again Doe eyes turn to murder I’d imagine you have cute laughter

Gun in hand Put your war paint on You don’t run with the wolves They run with you

Humor that you could feast on Creative colors and rosy cheeks Small and petite A voice like a god

Pen behind your ear Paper always on hand They probably bully you But that never stopped you

Words flow like rivers from you mouth You call it bad, not quite right But your poetry is wholesome And you probably troublesome But your creativity leaks some Then over flows

Cig and a drink Tattoos I’d imagine Poems unholy But damn that makes It quite the story You write with reality Your book a divinity

“Funny kid” doesn’t quite describe you Let’s just say humor Could be your identity Always have me Rolling on the ground And I’m not one to smile So damn you’ve got it going for ya kid

If you had a power It would be talking to animals You know those tiny cute anime girls Yeah that’s probably you

A word of wisdom Comfort in words Understanding human Your introverted But you listen Words of blue Everyone appreciates you

Writings are funny Powerful And creative Your a caring artist

Don’t take offense But I’ve always kinda seen you As a mother figure Not for me You just give off mom vibes Your writings are incredible A taste of medieval

Like a butterfly blooms I’ve seen your writings blossom You’re strong and powerful Don’t loose you Drive

Wants to be him But you see Even if parents don’t agree You are him And I believe There is nothing that Can make you she Since you are he

A sea goddess? Stories like a La La bye Smooth sailing towards rocky seas Fearless is she

Feed back queen Inspirational Writings never seen Keep up the goods Never loose hope

Twisted humor Words to make you think Writing isn’t your first hobby But you told me “I didn’t mean to kill him” Lied in between your teeth We have a brain to alike See you in hell Friend of mine

———————————————— Shadow Queen Fluffy Knives Edge Stormbound dreams Jinx The Quill Pen Shadow A Canvas Torn Bookworm 10 AJ Kit Pinkberries DjinniRB Margaret Sok TheLakes17 Pidge Veldez Penny Dreadful Queenie Stalker Blues

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⬆️ this is the order of the poem/writing thingys I hope I portray everyone correctly But also a lot of it is just the way I think you all would be soooo lol enjoy my 100th writing 🤷‍♂️😂🔪😈😅👀👍😵‍💫

“I didn’t mean to kill him. I-I didn’t”, the woman whispers her face as white as chalk. Her words are hard to believe given her state. Thick red liquid drenches her white linen dress, rendering the long sleeves swooping twin wings of scarlet. Her hair, which are fine blond strands atop her head, must’ve been weaved into an intricate braid at one point. It is now a stringy nest, the ends so dark with blood they appear black.

You swallow hard, the bile clawing up your throat as you take in the gory scene before you.

You already saw a glimpse of the body upon entering the home, the tattered remains of a human body littering the entryway.

You already saw the torso split in two, the entrails slippery and meaty pouring from the gash. Sinewy strands of tendon and muscle embed in the fluffy blood soaked rug beneath the body and you swear you see the pulpy remains of a purpled organ ruptured a few feet away.

You already saw it all and yet you are too afraid to dare a second glance, too afraid to look again to make sure the man really is deceased.

God, you really wish he is deceased, given his state.

“M-ma’am , I’m going to need you to remain calm and…”, you search around for a weapon of some sort, something sharp and capable of tearing through skin. You find nothing. The rest of your rehearsed phrase ‘and drop your weapon’, falls from your lips.

You glance behind you nervously, willing for your partner to turn up behind you. You are a rookie, barely done your training. Your partner- your mentor- was supposed to oversee this situation, not you. You were both in the area when the call came in and were first on the scene.

He was right behind you.

Where is he?

“What happened?”, you ask, unable to form any other words. You are too busy comprehending the scene before you and recovering from your own shock to ask the right questions.

You know you shouldn’t be questioning the suspect just yet.

A voice in the back of your head tries to warn you about issuing the Miranda Warning before asking such an incriminating question, but your head is too fuzzy, too rattled to do the right thing.

A strange buzzing sensation fills your ears, an earie high pitched hiss that thrums against your eardrums painfully. It makes your skin feel itchy and flushed.

It makes you feel anxious, on edge.

The woman looks up with large teary eyes as milky blue as saltwater taffy. Her features are delicate and doll-like, awkwardly small on that moon face of hers.

‘She has too much face’, you think absentmindedly, the though both observant and insulting, ‘she might’ve been pretty if she had a little less of it’.

Her gaze is uncomfortable, hot and invading and far too personal.

“I killed him”

You feel the colour drain from your face and discomfort whips like an electric eel in your gut. You suspected as much, but you didn’t expect her to outright admit to the crime.

“Ma’am, I’m going to have to arrest you now. Please turn around and put your hands behind your back”, You say. You try to inject confidence into your voice, but it comes out warbled and boyish.

You sound scared and unsure.

You are scared and unsure.

The woman, thankfully, obliges, the fluttering hem of her dress rippling as she turns and places her hands at the small of her back. With her white dress, pale skin, and silvery hair, she appears ghostly and ethereal.

‘She’s a strange cross between something unnerving and something beautiful’, you think.

The humming grows louder as you take tentative steps towards her, the sound so splitting that it liquifies the space between your inner ears.

You try as best as you can to ignore it and hold your handcuffs out in front of you.

Nervously, and a beat before laying your hands on the woman’s wrists, you look behind you one last time.

Your partner still isn’t here. He was supposed to have been right there beside you.

Where was he?

With a deep breath you finally brush your hand across the woman’s and attempt to cuff her. Her skin is cold but smooth, like a marble statue.

“You have the right to remain silent”, you finally manage to say, your training momentarily surfacing despite your extreme discomfort, “Anything you say can-“

But you are unable to finish your words.

Your eyes have found hers in the mirror hanging on the wall across the room. Only a sliver of her face shows, but it is enough.

Her pale eyes bore into you, something menacing and warning pooling in them.

While she hadn’t seemed like the violent type, at least not the perpetrator of such a grisly scene, something about her is still disarming and uncomfortable.

The buzzing in your head intensifies and that liquid feeling reaches your outer ears. It feels as though something- maybe blood or inner ear fluid?- is dripping out your ear and tracking down your neck into your collar.

But when you crane your head, the mirror reveals there is nothing there. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second and give your head a little shake to clear your thoughts.

When you open your eyes again the woman is still staring at you through the mirror but something about her gaze is different. There is a rabid, fiendish look in her eyes now and they appear like two smudges of coal in the face of a snowman.

“Its inside of you too”, she murmurs, her lips stretching into an expression that is more grimace than smile.

“W-what is inside of me?”, you ask. You know it would be best to just ignore her, arrest her and call for backup, but nothing about the situation feels right. Even your own thoughts don’t feel right.

“It was inside him”, she says nodding towards the corpse in the middle of the beige rug in the entryway.

“But I managed to pull it out. I just didn’t mean to kill him in the process”, she says, her eyes turning somber as she evaluates the body longer.

Cold shivers trace down your spine and that discomfort floods inside you so heavily that it feels as though a thick blanked of it presses down on your body.

“I can help you get it out”, she offers.

You take a deep breath to steady your racing heart and try to maintain your composure.

“Ma’am, I’m going to take you back to the station now and you can explain everything there”, you say.

You look down and attempt to handcuff her but the silver handcuffs that were once in your hand are no longer there. You look down to the floor, and reach at your waist but they are nowhere to be seen.

“What?…I swear I just…”

Your hands leave her wrist for just a second but when you look back up at her she too has suddenly disappeared.

Frantic and panicked, you survey the room, your eyes rapidly scanning every corner for the woman. Cold beads of sweat pool at your hairline and a discomforting weight settles at the pit of your stomach.

And that darned ringing still hasn’t gone away.

When you return to your position, your eyes flitter back to the mirror, and that’s when you see her. The woman, with the too-large face is right behind you, directly over your shoulder.

You see her lean towards you, her cool breath on your neck as she purrs.

“It is inside you”

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” I mocked, “pha! You did so!” “Shut up, Chess!” Tarot spat. Blood stained the cuffs of her white chiffon shirt and smudged the beds of her manicured nails.

Shut up? Shut up! My gods! If my hands weren’t still trembling or sweating a waterfall, Miss Murderer over there would’ve gotten a slap. Or two.

“Sir,” I said, addressing the third occupant in the room. The GM massaged his pale forehead, his round, wire glasses slipping down his nose with each swirl. “What?”

The GM sat opposite me, his tall, slim, yet surprisingly muscular frame taut like a bowstring in the loose embrace of the leather armchair. Over a crisp white shirt, a green tailored waistcoat curled over his shoulders and waist, and a black, silk cravat bulged under his shaven chin. Always the smartly dressed one, no matter the situation. No matter the hour.

The clock on the mahogany mantelpiece chimed two in the morning, and I suppressed a yawn. “Permission to flick Tarot’s ear.” “Denied.” Tarot kicked the leg of my chair. “Permission to KICK his ear, sir.” “Denied!” The GM growled. He let his arms fall, resting them in the fold of his lap. His eyes flicked from Tarot to me. “One of you—please—inform me of what happened.”

Leaning back, I turned to Tarot. I crossed my arms over my chest and squeezed. Despite having sat for more than fifteen minutes, my heart still raced, beating a riot.

Tarot twitched in her seat. A strand of black hair slipped from its knot, and she quickly tucked it behind her ear. Silver glitter swept over her brown cheekbones in what she once told me was a statement of ‘fashion’. But in reality, I knew she wore it to hide her scar. Although partly hidden by our uniforms’ masquerade masks, the scar still liked to make its appearance known. Jagged and ragged as it may have been, I thought it made her look cool, but she poured vinegar on my waffles when I told her so.

“We were caught off guard, sir,” Tarot began, and I coughed. “I was caught off guard, sir. The game was away, the saps at my table deep into their cups and even further into their wallets. We were gaining a good profit—” “Just get on with it!” The GM snapped. “Yes, get on with it.” I mouthed. “Right. Well,” Tarot continued, “I thought one of the fellows at my table was cheating, skimming. So I kept an eye on him. But then Rummy fell over carrying the tray of plates; I got…distracted, then suddenly, those Rebels from the papers filled the room. The fellow at my table shot up, and I thought he had a weapon, so I hit him, and he fell.”

“You did more than hit him.” “Yes, thank you, Chess.” “You absolutely annihilated him. Then the Rebels started attacking. We managed to get almost everyone out,” I said, and my legs began to shake, so I crossed them. “But the Rebels were brutal. I blame Tarot.” Tarot ignored my jibe. “Rummy is definitely up to something,” she added, “I swear. They were talking to the fellow before he joined my table.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, don’t you start that again! I told you, Rummy is clean, nothing but a teddy bear. They wouldn’t—” “You’re only saying that because you fancy them.” My face flushed. “I do not! How dare—”

“Quiet! Both of you!” The GM rose from his chair with the grace of an angry swan. He grabbed a crystal glass from the table, pouring in the orange liquid from the decanter. The large fire crackled. The candles flickered, and my stomach rumbled. Tarot glared at me, but I ignored her. “Sir,” I began. “How much money did we lose?” The GM whispered. “We don't—” I glanced at Tarot. “Probably over three thousand in damage alone.”

The GM began to pace, his heeled shoe clicking on the polished wood floor. “You are to find them—these Rebels. Make them compensate for the damage, for the money lost. And if they won't,” His eyes steeled on Tarot, and I could have sworn she flinched. I for sure did. “End them.”

Tarot nodded and rose from her chair, her body already moving towards the door before I had time to uncross my legs. “But how do we find them, sir? No one knows who they are. Or where they are.” “Then, Chess, I suggest you make some moves and find out quickly,” A grin cut into his face, and not a happy one of that. “I understand how much this job means to you. To your mother. How is she, may I ask?”

He knew very well how well she was—having her locked in his dungeon. Many moons ago, my Ma—out of desperation—stole from him, The Grand Master, and my working for was the only way to pay off her debt. To help save her life.

The GM gestured to the door, “Best get going, then, shouldn't we.” I rose from my seat and followed Tarot out, wishing so fiercely that I could slap him.

“I didn’t mean to kill him.“. Those were the last words she said before I killed her. Karma’s a bitch right. Well she deserved it and I know my karma will be coming to me soon. Until then I have to finish the mission. Ralphael was my best friend, my partner. He was like a brother to me and she killed him. I got there too late. The knife was in her hand covered in blood but she “didn’t mean to kill him”. That was a bunch of BS! It doesn’t matter anymore she’s dead now and I have to get out of here fast before they find me ......

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” I proclaimed. I swear, this was not the outcome I had intended.

I still remember the pain of his outbursts, I tried to take the brunt of it, to spare the little ones any more horror. They saw me put on a brave face, a smile to lie to the world. Long sleeves, slacks, make up, I was a actor who played her role to perfection. After school classes were a godsend, they kept our kids our of the house. And when they returned, it was homework, dinner, off to bed.

It didn’t start bad. My god, that sounds like the plot to a Hallmark movie, right? But it was true. It was a wonderful romance at first. Then the old cliches, he lost his job, I was the breadwinner. He stayed home with the kids, and got lost on the internet. Crazy websites, changing his world view. Alcohol? No, that was my escape. I’m not ashamed of that. I needed it.

I came home one night, exhausted after a long day of whiney clients. No dinner was prepared, and I admit, I was a cranky bitch about it. But of course that didn’t warrant the punch. That gleam in his eye, he enjoyed it. I would have hit back, but I feared. For my life, for the kids, hell, even for the goldfish. He never lay a hand on the kids, thankfully.

It went on for far too long, Yes, I should have gone to the authorities. But I feared. I feared no one would believe me. I feared ridicule, I knew shame. I hid money when I could, I built a Bug-Out-bag for myself and the kids,and hid it in the old tree in the yard. He found the bag. I wore a spiffy scarf to work that week, playing I was trying a new fashion.

Then, one night, when I was granted some free time (the kids were off to camp that summer) I remember looking at old photographs, and thinking, “Enough.”

I crept to the closet, to the gun safe, and took the rifle. He was on the computer, reading his favorite sites. I stood, waiting, I knew his routine well. He threw his chair away. Good, he read something that angered him. His heavy footsteps carried him to me.

I shot once: in his leg. Twice: his shoulder. A third time, his arm. He fell down the stairs, breaking his neck. The doctors tell me his death was instantaneous.

I didn’t mean to kill him, I swear. I meant for him to suffer first.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” A man walked further into the room and she fell to her knees ,wild tangles of black hair creating a dark halo around her face. She rocked back, letting long pale legs stretch out in front of her body.

As the man walked closer, the girl again began speaking, “I swear it, I didn’t mean to kill him! He was my little brother, I practically raised him,” she became quiet,”I loved him,” the man crouched down next to her and said quietly, “I know you loved him sweetheart, we all did. No-one blames you, it was not you doing the killing, you know that,”

//flashback// Warm air washed over the woman as she stepped out of a car. There was so much crime in this area that finding the villain she was supposed to kill would be difficult. The others had arrived hours before her but after the broken leg, she had to heal. As she usually did, the woman looked around before moving, just to make sure there were no attackers.

Only moments later, a man crept up behind her and cinched a collar around her neck, not tight enough for pain or a loss of breathing. Unfortunately, it was a collar the girl was all to familiar with. The man behind her had used them many a time and every time she fell for it.

The mind control collar

She was then forced to slaughter her own brother, a child she practically raised.

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Annie says to Sheriff Albright. He ‘s getting more than a little frustrated. “I remember you, Annie,” he drawls, squinting at her, “you and them thieves caused a whole lotta trouble in my town.” “You weren’t even Sheriff when we ran this place,” Annie mumbles.

She and Captain made this their first stop. Annie wanted to put up some tombstones in honour of her fallen friends. She didn’t have anything of theirs (all hands and belongings were lost to the sea) but she felt they deserved something. She’d paid the undertaker to erect several pillars on the edge of the graveyard, alongside the railroad tracks they’d robbed so many times. He’d made a comment about the kinda money she must have to be wasting it on dead folk who weren’t even there, but she ignored him.

They’d already collected two people for their cause: a former slave who called himself Dove and a pregnant woman named Josie. Chu tried to make small talk with them, but they were lost in their own little world, doting on each other. It took them three days to open up to the rest of the motley crew.

Josie’s fiancé was- to put it lightly- infuriated that she had run off. Even more so because it wasn’t his child she was carrying. Annie saw him approaching their camp one night. It was her husband.

Yes, the one that ran off with a red headed prostitute. He must’ve run out on her too, and trapped poor Josie not long after.

Buford cocked his shotgun and pointed it at Annie. “Well look who it is, my useless bitch of an ex-wife.” “Technically we’re still married, you adulterous drunk,” Annie retorted venomously, “I’m not surprised that Josie found comfort in the arms of another- you’re not much of a man no matter what woman you’re with.” He roared and charged towards her. Swiftly, Annie ducked out of his way and snatched the gun from the hands that had beat her bloody so many times. “Don’t be stupid,” his eyes were almost black with anger. “Oh, I’m thinking clearly for the first time in your company,” Annie smiled, “I ain’t afraid of you no more, Buford.”

She shot at him- aiming in between his legs- but the gun was rusted and she missed. It hit him square in the thigh and painted the sand with thick, dark, arterial blood. He screamed and cursed and begged for Annie to help him. She just stood there, cool as a cucumber, while the others came out of their tents to see what the ruckus was about. Dove held Josie to his chest and Captain told Chu to clean up the mess and fetch a doctor.

The Sheriff arrived with the morning. He grabbed Annie and took her away. No amount of protesting stopped him.

Annie steps over Albright. He shouldn’t have left his gun laying around. He’ll live, but she’ll be long gone by then.

I didn’t mean to kill him No not at all I never meant for it happen I never meant to fall

I’m sorry I could not love you I’m sorry I’m not the one We could have never been true I’m busy on the run

Which would have been worse Leaving or pretending to love God, this life I’ve been given is a curse That can only be changed from above

Never did I mean to cause you any harm Things never workout as we expected But, as soon as you said I love you l, it sent off an alarm So, you must have been rejected

I didn’t mean to.. I.. I genuinely did not mean to hurt him... Never mind kill him... All I ever wanted was a fairytale princess life, who doesn’t huh? But instead of my magical happily ever after all I received was hurt, pain and tears. Day, night. Day, night... Constantly. He would do things and tell me things that broke me inside, every new word or action would break a sharp piece of my already weak and delicate heart... I didn’t mean to kill him. I didn’t. I just wanted him to feel the same hurt he put me through over the years... Long, stressful, heartbreaking years... I just wanted him to feel heartbroken and unhappy... I wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine, I never thought it would end like this...