I lay my head down on the pillow tonight. As a warm tear slides down my cheek, I silently wish it were his chest I was lying on. I can't bear to close my eyes, nor leave them open. Both ways just produce a slur of memories, memories that drench me in grief. Maybe you would suppose that guilt also plagued me this dark night; but i will not pretend that it did. It was as far from my emotions as a girl who's entire family has been mercilessly murdered and tormented by a terrifying trespasser. I didn't want to have to climb into his house from the second floor window. Do you think I enjoyed that? Because I certainly did not. I disliked having to carry that axe all the way up with me too. But it had to be done. Do you think I liked hearing his scream of suprise at the sight of me standing over his bed with my weapon? No, I didn't, not even a little bit. He begged me to put it down, to please think about what I was doing. But I had thought about it. Despite how much I loved him, I had to do this. It wasn't a choice for me to make; I hadn't decided. In fact, he had been the one to ensure his brutal death by kissing her, by placing his lips on hers when it should have been me he was kissing, that was the only crime committed. So despite how beautiful he had looked that night, I had to swing my axe down upon his legs. The sound of the flesh and bone under the force of the sharp, menacing blade wasn't nearly as horrible as his cry of pain. Exruciating, mind boggling pain; it had to have been for all the noise he made and the blood to splatter on the white walls, and not to mention my face. Do you think I got some sort of sick pleasure out of doing this? If you did you are wrong. You have to understand that I had watched him for years. He had been everything to me! I thought for sure that one day he would be mine. Off went the leggys! Next in line was an arm. I violently swung again and my blade took a powerful fall into his shoulder, slicing his arm clean off. Well, not exactly clean. Once again much blood seemed to find itself on my face. I licked my lips and tasted it. His blood! His very own precious blood was now on my tongue. Oh how I loved him dearly! I remember the long nights I had fantasized the moment we would meet, and of course fall madly, crazily in love with one another. I was insane for him. Plain bonkers I tell you! But he just had to ruin it. Just had to kiss that new, pretty girl. Hadn't he felt it? Hadn't he felt that foreboding feeling that our love was almost ready to break through?I had felt it. It had been just a matter of time. Hmmm....what to chop off next? I figured the fingers of his other hand would be sufficient. I swung my axe for a third time, taking off four fingers at once! His screams now pierced the air at such a blood curdling volume that I was sure he would awake somebody! I truly wish I hadn't had to do that. But after years of loving him, he had betrayed me. You might claim that he didn't know, that we hadn't even met. But I know he knew it ws wrong! My love for him was so strong and radiant that I know he had felt it. He turned into a traitor with that kiss. He must have been delirious or something! I decided to keep one of his fingers for old times, and let him keep his thumb. (It wouldn't do much good to him now.) I reached over and plucked it up and placed it safely inside my pocket. Well, it was getting gruesome, and I had had to finish him before the nosy neighbors could call the cops. With one final swing, I slammed by axe into the side of his neck and SWOOSH! His darling head went flying across the room like a soccer ball being kicked. Instantly his annoying noise ceased. Silence seethed in the air. I didn't murder him! He murdered himself. I didn't want my true love to be killed. It hurt me emotionally as much as it had pained him physically. Blood squirted interestingly out of his stub of a neck. But there wasn't any time to observe, I had to sciddadle. I tumbled back out of the window and on home with my axe, which as it dried stained a dingy brownish-red color. I took a quick shower and retrieved his finger. I scurried into bed and proceeded to whimper and wail as I sucked on his bony finger. Oh how I would miss him so! Poor me, my only love had been obliterated!
A Stalker's Grief
October 12, 2009