By Melissa L. Webb
The blood splattered the walls as if it was abstract art. I watched as the patterns seemed to come together around me. Damn, I wish I had my camera. The gory masterpiece before me should be documented for posterity.
I slide the blade from her skin as she moaned causing more blood to flow, staining the white sheets to a dark crimson. What little life she had left in her struggled against me as I worked, even as it ebbed away.
I tossed the knife aside, wanting to feel her fleeting life force against my skin. My fingers curled around the pale flesh of her throat, digging in. She gurgled against me, trying desperately to suck in her last remaining breath as I tightened my hold, watching the life fade from her eyes.
With a final failed gasp, her muscles relaxed. I grinned as her body went limp. All life had been spilled from her. I reluctantly withdrew my hands from her neck and got up; staring at the lifeless beauty sprawled across the bed. How exquisite she looked in death.
Everything always seemed more beautiful at the end. I don’t know why that’s true, but it is. I guess death strips away the pretenses and leaves us with nothing but honesty.
I stepped back, sadly drawing my eyes away from my dark creation. It was time to clean up. I got busy, removing all evidence I had been there. I am saddened by this part, because the dance of death cannot be done without a partner, but I can’t let them find me.
I finished and quickly looked around the room, my eyes taking in the perfection of death one last time. My eyes linger on the blood splatters, taking in their whisperings of mortality. However, as I walk away, the sadness is fleeting, for I know, there are always more walls to paint.
© 2011 Melissa L. Webb