December 1, 2011
By VolleyAero SILVER, Phoenix, Arizona
VolleyAero SILVER, Phoenix, Arizona
5 articles 2 photos 5 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Where words fail, Music speaks"

Small dust particles laying on top of the old grandfather clock vibrated and the needles indicated midnight had arrived. The dark sound of the clock clanging brought the young bride to reality, and dim light from an old lamp barely illuminated the crisp paper laid out on the mahogany desk. The girl could only stare at the blank paper with sad eyes as memories flashed behind her eyes. She hoped that inspiration would strike her as the rattling of the machine rang in her ears, and shifted the position of the pen in her right hand. As the ominous sound gradually left her ears, her blue eyes shone with a determination to follow through with a plan. She sat up a little straighter in her chair, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath before letting the ink drown into the paper.

My Dearest James,
I have no notion, not a clue why I am sending this to you. It has been quite too long since the last time that we had talked. And I hardly even remember the last words we shared together as we separated into our own lives. Now I regret every opportunity I had dismissed talking to you, after all you are my best friend. You see I was blinded by my desire for independence and freedom; now I see that I was a foolish girl chasing after impossible dreams. This reminds me of an old saying “you don't know what you had until you lose it”. Now I can fully understand what that phrase means. I didn't realize that I had all the love in the world I needed right with my friends and family. Most importantly, James, I didn't see my love for you, and I didn't realize it until I had left. I am not talking about a best friend kind of love, to me you were the one. You are the one that I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. Telling you now is useless, I know that you probably already have a girlfriend who loves you more than I ever could. I am not trying to blame you for anything or make you feel guilty that you could've ever stopped what's about to happen. What I am going to do is not your fault at all, it is entirely mine. About a year after I had left college and really went out into the real world I met a guy, Stephan. He wasn't like all the other guys I had ever dated, there was something about him that I was attracted to. I don't know what I was thinking at that time. I started to trust him completely, and soon enough in about a year we were living together as well. Our friends and families saw that we had a perfect relationship on the outside, but something was wrong. It started the day after he had proposed to me, and Stephan had arrived home late. I went to confront him about why he was coming home so late and why he smelled like alcohol. He completely ignored me, which infuriated me, so I followed him and tried to pry some more information. Eventually he was so tired of my interrogation he turned to me and slapped me. Never in my life had I experienced such an act of violence. As I stood there in my nightdress holding my hand to my cheek I knew that life wasn't going to be the same anymore. Two months after this incident, life had become a living hell, he came home drunk almost every night and became more violent each time. I was so ashamed of the sinful acts in my own home, I didn't tell a single soul. It wasn't until my mother had called me about my wedding plans that I realized that I was truly stuck. If I broke the engagement Stephan would kill me. If I stayed with him and married him, he would kill me little by little everyday. Since I was so scared, I continued on as though nothing had changed, and I loved Stephan just as much as before. However, now as I sit here in my pearl white wedding dress writing this letter to you James. I know I never loved Stephan like I love you. And now I won't give him the satisfaction of killing me. I will commit that selfish sin myself. So this is my final goodbye. I love you.

Cynthia Belrose

Droplets of salt water softly slid down the cheeks of the morbid girl as she sealed her death letter and set it aside. Quietly the girl had gotten up from the wooden chair and went to stand in front of the mirror. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun and adorned with a veil. Blue eyes observed her long white gown, The strapless dress which was form fitting with a corset back to about her waist, where the dress swelled out like a princess dress. White gloves brought grace to her small hand and thin wrists and accented her pale skin. As her hands trembled, she slowly and delicately slid off each of the gloves exposing her hands to the cold biting air.

Unconsciously she moved into the kitchen without making a single sound other than the rustle of her dress dragging on the wood floor. She silently opened her knife drawer and pulled out the sharpest knife she had. Standing in the middle of the kitchen she debated whether to cut or stab herself. Deciding that she didn't have the stomach to stab herself, she glided the knife softly over her left wrist. The pain she was expecting never came to her so she kept on sawing at her wrist until the blood was streaming out onto her hand and dress. Pleased with her work she carefully passed the knife into her left hand and repeated the process to her right wrist.

As the blood flowed out of her severed veins Cynthia had to sit down from the dizziness. She watched as her dress soaked up each drop of blood, and her white dress was gradually turning red. Her vision was becoming fuzzy and soon darkness was creeping in as well. The girl smiled as she welcomed numbness and the blackness. Cynthia Belrose died the morning of her wedding with a smile on her face, in her wedding dress, and with open wrists.

Two weeks later a young man awoke feeling as though something was wrong. He tiredly got up from his bed and entered the bathroom for his daily ritual, ignoring the gut feeling he had. After he managed to tame his curly black hair, he turned his hazel eyes to the mail lying in front of his door. Out of habit he stooped down and picked up all the letters sorting them out, and throwing away a few. The last letter in the bunch was from his old best friend from school, Cynthia. The odd feeling once again returned to his stomach, as he wondered why Cynthia contact him after so many years of silence. As soon as he was about to break the seal of the envelope to reveal the contents of the odd letter, the time caught his eye. If he didn't leave this moment he would be late for work. He glanced at the letter in his hands and then back to the clock ticking away on the wall. Throwing the letter a wistful glance he rushed to get his coat and ran out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

The author's comments:
I had to write a short story for my English class last year based off a picture we received. This is what I got out of it. Not my best piece of writing, but not my worst piece of writing either.

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