A Deadly Love

September 24, 2011
The weather was bright and sunny to begin the day, but as time progressed with its unpredictable outcomes, the day ended with the most depressing condition of rainfall. It was a Saturday afternoon during the month of August, and the date was supposed to be so glorious that the bride and groom would never forget it. For on Saturday August 22, 2006, Mr. Anthony Rell and Miss Rachel McCarran’s wedding day ended without a celebration.

I had long waited for this day to come, but as the year after their proposal progressed, I ceased to have any feelings toward the marriage. Mr. Rell’s father had hired me to be his butler over twenty years ago, and when he died, I swore never to let his son get harmed in any way. Unfortunately, life goes on, and one by one the memories of my promise wore away. Now Mr. Rell was marrying a beautiful woman whom I scarcely saw.
Almost everyday, they were gone so I had no one there to comfort me in the large, cobweb covered, decrepit mansion. There was a cemetery in the backyard, which made me feel uneasy when I looked out of my dim, gray windows. Three large mausoleums had been placed in the cemetery. One contained Mr. Rell’s father, another one would contain Mr. Rell, and the third would contain whoever married Mr. Rell. Most days I cleaned the ten bathrooms, fifteen bedrooms, three very large grand halls, the titanic dining room, the library, Mr. Rell’s study, and the kitchen. I did this with much care, and I had to be especially careful with Mr. Rell’s intricate vases.
It was on August 20, 2006 that I decided to murder Miss Rachel McCarran. The thought had crossed my mind before, but I never reflected on it realistically. The reasons for my thoughts of bringing death upon the wife-to-be were very clear. It would be over nothing more than wanting Mr. Rell to stay with me, and not get caught up in so much love that he would leave me to die in this old, forsaken house. I knew how to make poison because Mr. Rell went to Brazil, and some witch doctor gave him a recipe for poison darts. Mr. Rell had no use for the recipe, so he tossed in a desk located in the library. I tried making it numerous times to test on rats, mice, and any other living thing that roamed the almost desolate house. On the tenth try, I got it right, which I was grateful for because the ingredients would nauseate even the most disgusting and repulsive of creatures, man or animal.
The wedding day had finally come. The sun shone brighter than all of the stars combined, as the beloved bride and groom readied themselves for one of the biggest moments of their lives. The day’s condition gave the feeling of being married in a graveyard a great and somewhat luxurious feeling. While all of the twenty-five guests were getting settled in, I placed the poison in the dart, which I would blow through a tube toward Miss McCarran’s neck. In order to make sure no one saw me, I sat in the back, and would shoot right when they began to kiss. I knew I was insane to break up my master’s true love for Miss McCarran, but to keep me satisfied with my life, killing her was the best idea I had.
The music started as the soon-to-be Mrs. Rell walked down the isle in a stunning white gown with flowers adorning it. The priest began to start the ceremony of uniting the two when Miss McCarran was side by side with Mr. Rell. I took position in the back where no one could see me. The time flew by and within forty-five minutes the priest said, “You may now kiss the bride.” I stood their ready to go, while waiting to shoot. The bride and groom were an inch apart when I realized that by killing Mr. Rell’s beloved wife I would hurt him in a way unimaginable to the human mind. The thoughts of my promise to his father flooded through my heart, and with one swift movement, I ran toward the house as the two kissed to complete the ceremony.
Inside I disposed of the poison dart, and decided that the thought of bringing death to another was so wrong that I needed to kill myself in order to demolish these twisted ideas of wrong doing. That is exactly what I did. Before a single person had a chance to step into the house for the festivities, I wrote a note and placed it on the dinning room table. I positioned it at the end seat where Mr. Rell would sit. The letter was clearly written in my handwriting, but just in case, I signed my name on the bottom of the paper. Then I went to the first grand hall’s balcony and tied a knot around the chandelier. Subsequently, I reflected on what I had written in the note. I expressed every form of sorrow and wished everyone a farewell. Along with pleading for their forgiveness, I wrote what to do with my dilapidated body. I also mentioned that when they had finished the letter, they should go into the first grand hall and look up.
These thoughts of death brought a tear to my eye, and then I jumped. Two days later the Rells held my funeral in the backyard, and placed my body and severed head into the mausoleum with Mr. Rell’s father. I always wished for this to happen, and somehow, they knew that my request could have been met. I now had my own peace of mind in death, and for all eternity this is how I want it to stay.





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Norma-Bernard said...
Sept. 27, 2011 at 6:07 pm
I'm scared.........
 
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