Oh, The Things You Make Me Do

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Do I need to tell you? Because I will, even though you already know. I mean, you did it, darling. You killed me.

But it’s not like I didn’t know! What do you take me for? I know how jealous you were, how sick you are. I knew that the glass of wine you slipped me was pure poison.

So why did I drink it? Angel, you know. You know more than you give yourself credit for. I sipped it, as I used your full tube of Caribbean Kisses lipstick (yes, your favorite one they discontinued) to kiss your mirror until it was completely covered. Why would you want to look in your mirror now, anyway? I used what was left of the lipstick to write some naughty words across the lip stains. You need to see yourself as these naughty words sometimes, darling, because that’s what you are.

And I curled my long, dark hair with your curling iron, I used your favorite eye makeup, and I painted my nails with your favorite dark silver nail polish (oops! Did I spill the entire bottle on your bed?!)

I went to your closet and slipped on your favorite teal dress, the one that blows back in summer breezes, the one you thought was perfect for beach walks. The one you felt like a movie star in.

You knew all of this, but you couldn’t comprehend, because half of you was in a dreamlike bliss. Oh, my dear, how could you sleep at a time like this?

Your front door opened, and shut, my bare feet walked across your snow covered yard, and I laid down in the middle of it, crossing my arms over my chest, looking up at the starless night. Half past midnight and there was no sound. No night creatures calling, not even a single car passing by. Before I shut my eyes in death, I looked up at your window. You were awake then, love! You saw me wink at you as I settled in, the snow forming to my body.



I’m dead, but I’m not gone. Why won’t you tell anyone what happened to me? This isn’t some Sara Shepard novel, dearest. This is your life. I was your friend, and you killed me. You ran downstairs as soon as you saw me dressed all fancy in the snow, and toted my lifeless body away. You dug in the almost frozen ground until the sun showed its face, and put me inside of it. What, I don’t even get a stone? Sweetheart, we were best friends!

Isn’t the guilt of the poison wine just absolutely killing you? Or is it me that’s killing you. I spend hours in your room, watching your every move. I watched your police interview, the one where you pulled from your acting experience to cry for me. You said you knew nothing. Oh, sweetie, didn’t daddy ever tell you not to lie?

I’m the voice inside of you, I’m the screams inside your head, I’m the shadows on your wall. I’m the one lurking in the doorway when you’re alone, I’m the one under your bed, I’m the holder of your emotional being.

Sometimes you think you hear voices, but no one is around. Paranoia, my friend? Oh, no, that’s just me. I whisper into the air, your too sensitive ears picking up on my mumbling. I’m not saying words, angel, I’m simply babbling at you.

But maybe I need to show myself and tell you. Sorry, maybe tell is the wrong word. Warn you, maybe? Ha, little girl, I have more power over you in death than I did in life! How’s this for a cute little poem, “if you don’t tell, I’ll make your life h***!”

Ha-ha. You don’t lose a sense of humor in death! I can draw on you with satin’s pen, turning you into a monster. I can talk and talk, and because I know what gets to you, I can drive you insane. Did you forget that we were best friends? You shared your LIFE with me, darling. Maybe I’ll get you so insane that you’ll kill yourself.

But suicide, angel? We both know that’s the weak way out. Here’s the deal- you tell them what you did, and I’ll leave you alone. Do you think I like seeing posters with my face on them as I wander around town? Do you think I like watching the news with your mother and father, and hearing my name being said over and over by that pointy chinned anchor with the terrible haircut?

Oops, messed up again. Sorry about that. I forgot that you don’t know I’m still here. You think I’m happily dancing in Heaven, cloud leaping and smiling, a glowing halo over my head.

Nope, not yet. Not until you tell. I mean, I know we both knew it was a joke at the end. I mean a sleepover? We were in the biggest fight of our lives, hon. I knew you were so darn jealous that I got your man, and you didn’t. A reason to kill me? Hardly. I love you, pumpkin, I really do, but I can’t rest until you’re locked up.

Oh, the work you make me do. Watching you sleep in your bed, the comforter still covered in silver (oh, I spread it around, didn’t I? I was trying to clean the puddles. I guess rubbing it all around with a tissue doesn’t do that!) Your eyes are closed, you’re probably shaking with fear in your subconscious mind. Nightmares again? Oh, baby, I’m sorry. I remember you suffering from those when we were five.

But I tap you; my fingernails are still gleaming silver, though the rest of me is clear, except for the muddy, torn teal dress I still wore.

Your eyes open, and you try to scream. You can’t, I’ve stolen your voice. Doesn’t that happen in some movie? Oh yes, “The Little Mermaid”. Oh the fun we’ve had in our juice box and Disney movie days.

“Tell, or I won’t go away” I whisper, “confess what you did to me, or I’ll make your life h***.” I wink; it’s kind of my thing. “I love you, cupcake, I do, promise. But you see, this just isn’t right. But I presume you’ll make it right.” I knock everything off your dresser for good measure, making sure some glass perfume bottles shatter. There. When you wake up, you’ll have proof I was here, that you weren’t dreaming.

You’re eyes are the size of saucers. You’re questioning reality. All normal, I mean, you kill your best friend and there she is, supposedly dead, but yet talking to you at your bedside.

Oh, little friend, I’m so happy you’re confessing. Now I can sleep again, maybe get a pair of those wings. No longer will I have to linger by you in the midnight hour, threatening you. Was that fun for either of us, darling? No. But you’ll go to jail for manslaughter and I’m going up to Heaven.

We both get what we want now, right? Oh, well, I do at least. I win again. Ha, kind of funny, isn’t it? I always win.





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