That evil Thing, lying there on the ground....It glinted in a sliver of passing light as if It knew I was watching it. I swear, I coundn't have done it. I love her. Correction: I loved her. There was no 'her' anymore. It told me I had to do it. I protested, of course. I screamed, my face stained pink from a mixture of the tears and the blood. Oh, the blood. The beautiful, beautiful blood, a deep crimson that carressed my fingers and eyelashes, arms and cheeks. What was hers is now mine, and what was mine now lay a shreiking red flag across her face, chest, and stomach. I worshiped that body before, before It told me to kill her. Now, it's beauty disgusts me, yet my eyes are somehow still drawn to her. The marks I left remind me of a child's game, like I used the cream-colored hills and valleys of my lover to scratch out a game of tic-tac-toe. I turned away, away from my deed, away from her, away from It. I could't face the fact. I couldn't right my wrong. She couldn't come back.
I spun around, and as my blood boiled and I ripped my clothes off, leaving a trail behind me like bread crumbs, I clenched one hand into a fist, and the other reached for It. I would end this.
I spun around, and as my blood boiled and I ripped my clothes off, leaving a trail behind me like bread crumbs, I clenched one hand into a fist, and the other reached for It. I would end this.
