Post by Turn 360 and walk away on Sept 29, 2011 23:46:07 GMT -5
Leaves shimmered in the light breeze of the evening, like a million shivering insects preparing to take flight. One fell from a tree and landed at my feet, bloody red and cracked. There are no more cars on this street. It is late and many people are tired. I wasn't tired. I had never felt more alive. It was strange.
It was strange that I was awake. I had been awake for two days now. I am usually a frequent sleeper. It was stranger that my skin felt no chill in the cool autumn air, despite the fact that I wore nothing but a light t-shirt and pair of ratty jeans.
Light splashed across my face and I pulled away. Low red light flooded the yard where I was crouched. My heart hitched as I watched through the window intently.
A flickering flame in the window sill engulfs the house like an inferno. I am fire-blinded, even though it is only a line of candles. My eyes shined with the new light and I closed them. They were in the room.
They saw me.
I backed away and opened my eyes again and they noticed little beyond each other.
They didn't see me.
My heart hitched again.
Her dress fell to the floor in a cascade.
I watched him caress the girl I love. I watched him hold every inch of the woman I love.
I stood up slowly and approached the back door. The house was black. She owned no dog. He was too busy to notice. Still, I was careful. My pulse pounded in my ears. I clamped my hand over then and wiled the noise to stop.
Two fingers twisted the knob to avoid making noise. Two steps allowed my entrance. Two kicks rid me of a piece of clothes that tangled itself on my shoe.
The back door led to the laundry room.
My laundry room.
Our laundry room.
Through my house I took my time. Remembered the chip of paint and the empty hole where a nail once hung a painting.
Her voice called me, though they did not know it. She was calling my name, though she did not mean it and he not hear it. I heard it.
Maneuvering through my hallway I find a door ajar. A small bed flanked with stuffed dolls and flowers on the wall. She is with my mother tonight, where I am supposed to be sleeping while he has my house.
Our house.
Slowly I step into the bathroom, careful to make no sound. I know the creaking boards and know how to avoid them. In our mirror I fix my hair and comb it flat. I use one of our towels to pat at my forehead and wipe my sweating brow.
A different towel is hanging on the rack and I take hold of it. He has poor choice in towels. This is thin, and feels scratchy against my palm. This is not a good towel.
How can she want him?
His towel is in my hands as my elbow nudges open our door.
I consider my words carefully, practicing silently as I enter our room. I force the words from the back of my throat with a thick demeanor, sounding slower than I had hoped. I know I'm not supposed to be here, I said, I know that, but I just wanted to see if he fucks you as good as you both are fucking me. I said that and I remembered the towel. They are blindfolded to stop the stares. All I see is red.
Red like fire.
Red like autumn leaves.
I just wanted to see, I said, why you would think it was okay, I questioned, why would you fuck her when you knew I loved her. Why was that okay, I asked.
The words came easily, away from his accusing stares and her longing glances.
Now I can focus. I tell her that this should only be a minute. Her chest heaves in sobs. Her bare chest, so perfect. Like this house, it was theirs, not his. Never his.
Why should it be his?
The hammer pulls back on the side of my thumb and the metal feels heavy. I can feel the chill in the cylinder.
All I see is red.
He falls in convulsions, like a fly with it's wings torn off. She was tied to him but the bullet ripped the towel. It was so cheap it tore as easy as that.
How could she want someone like that?
The towel caught his blood and it smeared her perfect face and dripped from her perfect nipples. She sobbed on the floor without making a noise.
She is so adorable. Even when she's crying, she is adorable.
He didn't know that. He didn't think that.
Why did she think he loved her?
Why does she think I am not good enough for her, I asked. Who does she think she is, I ask.
He coughed and ruined their pillow cases.
He reached for her and ruined their carpet.
He grasped at the mattress and ruined their sheets.
Who do you think you are, I asked her, To throw a life away so easily.
I told her how she sickens me.
I told her why,
I told her I knew what she thought about me. How she wanted to get rid of me. I told her that treating people like they were expendable was wrong. I told her how she was a whore and how she lies and cheats. I told her how she had no soul.
I pulled the hammer back.
The trigger pulled and the barrel flashed.
I felt the bullet in the roof of my mouth.
All I see is black.
It was strange that I was awake. I had been awake for two days now. I am usually a frequent sleeper. It was stranger that my skin felt no chill in the cool autumn air, despite the fact that I wore nothing but a light t-shirt and pair of ratty jeans.
Light splashed across my face and I pulled away. Low red light flooded the yard where I was crouched. My heart hitched as I watched through the window intently.
A flickering flame in the window sill engulfs the house like an inferno. I am fire-blinded, even though it is only a line of candles. My eyes shined with the new light and I closed them. They were in the room.
They saw me.
I backed away and opened my eyes again and they noticed little beyond each other.
They didn't see me.
My heart hitched again.
Her dress fell to the floor in a cascade.
I watched him caress the girl I love. I watched him hold every inch of the woman I love.
I stood up slowly and approached the back door. The house was black. She owned no dog. He was too busy to notice. Still, I was careful. My pulse pounded in my ears. I clamped my hand over then and wiled the noise to stop.
Two fingers twisted the knob to avoid making noise. Two steps allowed my entrance. Two kicks rid me of a piece of clothes that tangled itself on my shoe.
The back door led to the laundry room.
My laundry room.
Our laundry room.
Through my house I took my time. Remembered the chip of paint and the empty hole where a nail once hung a painting.
Her voice called me, though they did not know it. She was calling my name, though she did not mean it and he not hear it. I heard it.
Maneuvering through my hallway I find a door ajar. A small bed flanked with stuffed dolls and flowers on the wall. She is with my mother tonight, where I am supposed to be sleeping while he has my house.
Our house.
Slowly I step into the bathroom, careful to make no sound. I know the creaking boards and know how to avoid them. In our mirror I fix my hair and comb it flat. I use one of our towels to pat at my forehead and wipe my sweating brow.
A different towel is hanging on the rack and I take hold of it. He has poor choice in towels. This is thin, and feels scratchy against my palm. This is not a good towel.
How can she want him?
His towel is in my hands as my elbow nudges open our door.
I consider my words carefully, practicing silently as I enter our room. I force the words from the back of my throat with a thick demeanor, sounding slower than I had hoped. I know I'm not supposed to be here, I said, I know that, but I just wanted to see if he fucks you as good as you both are fucking me. I said that and I remembered the towel. They are blindfolded to stop the stares. All I see is red.
Red like fire.
Red like autumn leaves.
I just wanted to see, I said, why you would think it was okay, I questioned, why would you fuck her when you knew I loved her. Why was that okay, I asked.
The words came easily, away from his accusing stares and her longing glances.
Now I can focus. I tell her that this should only be a minute. Her chest heaves in sobs. Her bare chest, so perfect. Like this house, it was theirs, not his. Never his.
Why should it be his?
The hammer pulls back on the side of my thumb and the metal feels heavy. I can feel the chill in the cylinder.
All I see is red.
He falls in convulsions, like a fly with it's wings torn off. She was tied to him but the bullet ripped the towel. It was so cheap it tore as easy as that.
How could she want someone like that?
The towel caught his blood and it smeared her perfect face and dripped from her perfect nipples. She sobbed on the floor without making a noise.
She is so adorable. Even when she's crying, she is adorable.
He didn't know that. He didn't think that.
Why did she think he loved her?
Why does she think I am not good enough for her, I asked. Who does she think she is, I ask.
He coughed and ruined their pillow cases.
He reached for her and ruined their carpet.
He grasped at the mattress and ruined their sheets.
Who do you think you are, I asked her, To throw a life away so easily.
I told her how she sickens me.
I told her why,
I told her I knew what she thought about me. How she wanted to get rid of me. I told her that treating people like they were expendable was wrong. I told her how she was a whore and how she lies and cheats. I told her how she had no soul.
I pulled the hammer back.
The trigger pulled and the barrel flashed.
I felt the bullet in the roof of my mouth.
All I see is black.