The Daughter of Mona Lisa

It was like it happened yesterday: the oozing, the wheezing, and the screaming. Nothing could remove that image from my mind. The pure excellence of the shape of his mouth when he screamed out for help was even better than I imagined. I have my whole life to think about my actions, because I am stuck in this cell of a hell, but let me tell you; it was all completely worth it.
Let me start from the beginning; he and I met at a bar and it was love at first sight. His baby-blues slightly covered by dark brown hair that barely curled just like his lips when he smiled was all I saw as he and I danced and shared our liquor. At the end of the night he led me to his house and even an innocent such as you can picture what I had to do to seal the relationship between us. After that, he was all mine, or so I thought.
A month after that night he moved into my over populated apartment that was smack dab in the middle of the city. It had an overhanging ruff and dripped dirty water onto you after it rained. My room was small but it had all the essentials. Yes the floorboards creaked when you walked up the stairs, and yes there were holes in the smoked stained yellow walls where my favorite painting hung, a painting of the perfect Mona Lisa, but it was still nicely fit for me.
We started off hot and heavy but as the months progressed I started to wear more make up and long sleeved blouses. My beautiful long straight black hair was not chopped to the bottom of my ears, and the lips he used to long for were well, bruised and swollen so I could barely eat. The greenish-blue owl-shaped eyes were now lifeless, without life and without love. Women came and went like dirty laundry at the Laundromat. I liked it better when they were here; he was occupied; what did he have use for my body when he had theirs? I was just old and abused used for him to get his anger and frustration out on. This was my life.
Side to side, side to side, my eyes knew the motion well without my telling. Side to side they were checking. Side to side I was waiting, watching for my “better” half to return. The darkness makes it so hard to see; yet it warns me of his drunken return. The return I so longed for to never come, but it always did.
There are footsteps coming from the stairs I longed to push him down. The thuds are getting closer; my heart starts pounding to the beat of his steps. One normal, two stumbled, five curses, and no laughter come from the other side of the door. My racing heart drops as the light circles around me like the aroma formulating around him. Silence; this is not usual for him. Not a glance came my way as suspected, but instead he turned on his heal and headed to the dresser opposite the bed.
“Madeline,” slipped through his lips and twisted around my ears as if to help me slither into reality. “Madeline,” he said yet again turning around this time. “Yes,” I whispered back still trying to be invisible. His blood-shot eyes crept up and down my body like he owned me. This made me feel disgusted and finally words came to my mind that should never be spoken but not one slipped out. “Why don’t you come over here and do what a good wife should. Can’t you see your husband is feeling down?” His words slapped me in the face and then I heard someone speak up. Who said it? It couldn’t have been me, but I had this deep feeling in my gut that I would get punished for what they had said.
I knew it; that sparked him. He was at my throat in a split second and my moist shaking hands reached underneath his pillow for the hunting knife he kept underneath there to keep me in order. A quick movement happened then a scream. I wasn’t my scream, but his. I shoved that knife deep into his chest; I aimed for the dark hollow spot he hurt me the most every day so he could feel my pain before he died. Blood oozed out all around me and just then I wanted to become a part of that knife that just killed my life-sucking husband. The rest of the night is unknown to me; this unforgiving deed God trusted me to fulfill, and I did, snuck in on me like the night does on the day.
I sat on the edge of that bed for days it seemed but it was only minutes. My blood encrusted night gown started to dry to my milky-white skin. The sheets that were once a light green were now stained with his waste, his blood, and my tears. They were not tears of sadness but instead they were tears of pure joy, joy that he was out of my life forever; he could never make me suffer again, not like he used to.
My nosey neighbor found me sitting on my bed, staring of into space, and singing a lullaby. The song was low and quiet; you had to have utter silence to even hope to hear the beauty of its words and rhythms. It seemed hours later that sirens echoed throughout the tiny room ruining my tunes, and minutes after that I was surrounded by police officers. I was like the great Mona Lisa, still and silent, not one muscle moved when they surrounded me. I only smiled.





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