Hey all! Took a long break to focus on my TikTok account and lost motivation to write…however I’m back! And today I’m writing a short story using one of chiyo’s ideas!

If you haven’t stumbled across chiyo’s writing, please search their user up. Thanks again for the idea.

New prompt: “The knife in my hand felt as if it was the end to all my suffering.” (Note: include this dialogue in your story)

The knife in my hand felt as if it was the end to all my suffering. The end to each burden that carried me away from my endless challenges that awaited me.

Today, I was _free_. And I freed him from this world.

I sit on the weathered pavement. My mind on nothing more than the mere, haunting sight that was his body. But now, it is only his lonely soul.

I sit motionless, without a single bustling thought. No tears, no shaking hands, nothing. This wasn’t new to me. The deep scarlet runs down my knife, but I told myself that all things come with a cost. Nobody is free in a day.

Well, unless that freedom concerns death.

And that was the case for him. I sat beside him until his body grew cold, the crimson blood became cool against my hot skin. Until death welcomed him with open, eager arms.

Long ago, the days awaited for us to continue our story together. To continue the chapter of our full lives that brightened the slightest with the presence of eachother.

Everyone rooted for us. Even fate, even the two of us.

Except, that was how he felt. _And him alone. _

It wasn’t nearly close to describing how my heart would beat for him.

I loved him, that was for sure. But my heart stuttered, it hesitated. And he didn’t deserve it. Neither did I. He loved me despite everything.

Yet every person I loved has ended up dead, or scarred.

My father once told me he _loved_ me.

_And he’s gone now. _

And that was my doing. Because I could never live with myself knowing someone loved me more than I could love myself. Or more than I could love them.

So father passed away with no more than a cough. I had poisoned his tea, a small tradition we had. A tea party. Ever since I was a child.

_I guess it had to do. _

So I drove my blade through his proud chest, so although my heart hesitated for him, his could also hesitate for me. His could stop beating for me the way mine stopped for him.

Like I said, freedom came with one cost. Love came with two, it took two willing to give their hearts to one another.

And his murder took three things. My knife, my love, and my dignity.

_I guess it was just better that way. _

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_*_took a break from writing so ANY feedback is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading my story and thank you so much chiyo 🫶