The sound of her dead body falling to the ground echoed through the quiet empty house, leaving stillness in the sinister darkness. Johnny stood there, with tears running down his face, looking over the body of his wife. The woman he had loved so much and vowed to care for was gone, but through the shattering sadness and despair, he was content. Content that she was actually gone. Content that the madness had finally ended. As he went through the memories they shared in the past, he realized that she had finally paid for all the pain she had caused him for so long, with her own life.

At last, Johnny returned to reality, shaking off any last thoughts he had of Carrie and wiping away all his tears. “There’s no time for regret nor crying”, he thought to himself, as he moved towards the bedroom. More time than he cared to acknowledge had passed since he'd entered the room and sat on the bed. Johnny stretched himself, so that he was lying down on her side of the bed, his head buried in her pillow. He could smell her, her familiar scent of flowery perfume and simple femininity flooded his senses, as he closed his eyes. Johnny was quickly falling asleep as exhaustion overcame him, but before the darkness completely took over he quietly remarked to himself, “I’ve never slept in a better bed.”

















Black waves crashed on the sand as the navy clouds rolled over the skies. Birds cried out amidst the deafening dead air. The wind was howling and the air crept hauntingly closer to Carrie. She stared lazily at the horizon, as her eyelids drooped. Her feet were dangling over the pier, wading in the freezing ocean, her hands propped up as her head leaned back to enjoy the salty ocean air.

She wanted to forget. Forget everything that clouded her mind and bound her down. Forget the lingering sensations that rendered her speechless whenever he looked at her with those eyes. Those eyes, pools so deep she would voluntarily drown in. She let out a bitter laugh, scorning herself for how weak she felt. She was pathetic, vulnerable, and her heart of stone ached with a pain that crippled her soul. The wind played with her hair, and the sun was barely visible over the strip of horizon. She withdrew her feet from the water and spread her body on the floating wooden boards. The dock was deserted; allow her to drift in a tranquil state as she heard the ocean sloshing beneath her.

Her life was fraying apart, like a shoestring. No matter how she tried to keep it together, it had fallen apart. Nothing lasted with her. Everyone called her the silent warrior; someone too cold and independent to go near. If only they had given her a chance, like he had.

Hawaii – a modern fairy tale.
Standing on the balcony of her hotel room, he was strolling on the beach.
An immediate attraction. A skipped heartbeat. One look.
An evening of conversation, just him and her.
She could almost taste the magic.

Carrie could hear footsteps coming closer to her. She quickly sat up and looked around. In the creeping dark, she could see it was a man, tall and handsome with a haunting smile. Her husband. “The light of my life,” she thought with a biting bitterness. Everything had changed when she'd met him. It was a gradual change, which soon enough, left Carrie knowing that she could not live without him in her life. However much he hurt her, and however much she yelled, they needed one another. But, she needed him now, and he wasn't there. She was alone. He wasn't there for her when she needed him more than ever. Goosebumps rippled through her, and she was sure it wasn't just because of the cold night.

"Johnny," she murmured thickly.

"Yes?" he replied. She let out a laugh, but instead it sounded like contained puff of breath let out; an impression of a laugh. He kneeled beside her with concerning eyes.

"Johnny," she repeated staring at him. She wanted to forget about him, but he had reappeared now. She wanted nothing more, but to forget everything. 'What do you want?' she wanted to ask, but instead it came out as "Do you know what I want?”

He smiled coolly and replied, "What do you want?"

Carrie drooped her eyes and leaned closer to him. "I want to play a game," she replied, daring him to respond.

“Anything you want,” he said with unwavering confidence.

“We will hunt – you and I,” Carrie said sadistically, “You’ll leave first, and go to all the places that mean something to us. I have to track you done. You'll find this game worth playing – your heart against mine. We’ll see just how much you really know me.”

He stared at his wife with his burning orbs of lies and nodded, as he walked back to his car. He looked back once more, before revving his engine and leaving. Always leaving.

He was awake before the alarm. Dressed up – nicer than usual.
The spoken words engraved in her memory.
Leaving for a meeting. No one important.
She prodded, but his lips remained sealed.
The feelings of betrayal. The feelings of rejection.

It was her turn to leave, so she walked out of the pier, got in her car and set off on the hunt. He was so predictable; it was always a simple system in his mind. The park. Their tree. The place they had fallen in love. The tree that touched the clouds in the sky, with it’s aging branches of wisdom. She pulled into park and walked to the edge of the entrance, where she could see his silhouette standing by the tree.
A fall breeze blew through the park, causing the leaves to fall from the trees and flutter weightlessly to the ground. The sun was sinking slowly in the West and soft hues of orange, red, and blue colored the once white clouds in the endless sky. The scenery was quiet and besides the hidden birds singing their songs, there was only the sound of the rustling wind for miles around. It was steadily growing colder by the minute, and the clouds rolled in as if a storm was near, ruining the beautiful sunset and consuming the area in darkness. The wind began to pick up, pushing against the branches of the trees almost violently, creating a consuming rustling.

She couldn’t walk to him, couldn’t meet his eyes. Her pain hung over her like a glistening sword, held up by the fraying hair of her sanity. If she looked at him now, she wouldn’t be able to hold myself back, and that scared her even more than her familiar animalistic delight, the lust of the predator, seeping through her veins. She had become a different person now: the watcher who wrings her hands as the hunter looks on and plots. He didn't notice, though. Instead he turned and walked back to his car. Carrie, as the hunter watched and waited, as his car slowly drove out of sight.

Out of sight, like their marriage. It all gets old, after a while – the meaningless words that slowly lost their shine, like the dusty party dresses that were never taken out to use, to enchant a large gathering with shimmering grace and gay laughter; like the promises that were never fulfilled, the doors that were never opened. In the end, it didn't take long for happily ever after to become a sweet, decaying lie – the princess had made a mistake.

Little signs she tried to overlook – the fights and the indifference.
Staying up, waiting for his call. Leaving messages. Late nights.
“I’m not good enough for you anymore, am I? Not good enough for you to want to come home.”
He walked away – she wasn’t worth fighting for.

She knew where he was going next, Death Club. Their first date, and their first look into each-others true feelings. She pulled into the bursting parking lot, and walked into her familiar hunting ground. Carrie loved the dizzying whirl of lights and the raucous laughter that engulfed the club. It was the chaos and confusion, the harsh beat that thumped in her ears, something in the sheer wanton abandon that people throw themselves into that drew her into the dim, hazy place. The way the unwary moth is drawn into the fire.

It's nothing more than a game of observation to him though, where he sat by the bar, drinking whatever he was served without so much as a glance. He let his eyes roam across the dancing groups of people, letting the drunken atmosphere roll over him in waves. Tilting his head slightly at the smiles and coy looks women give him, he was amused at the way people found themselves attracted towards him. She could see him scan the room for her, but unsuccessful he instead drained his drink and stood up.“I’m done playing, Carrie. I'm going home for a rest now. Thank you for a most amusing evening."

If anyone bothered to look twice, they could see Carrie was far from satisfied, with lips that perpetually curved in a smile and crinkled eyes that flashed a dangerous blue every time she opened them. He was done playing, but she wasn’t.

The lights of the club give off an almost supernatural glow.
Swirling. Twirling.
There is a girl in the mass of people dancing in those lights.
There is something special about her.
Long, dark, curly hair cascading down her back and clothes that complement every curve.
It is no wonder you see a tall, handsome, young man stroll up behind her and wrap his arms around her as there begins a new beat.
Together they dance slow and sweet to the music.
On a battle ground dimensions away there lays a dance. A dance between strangers.

She’s standing in front of their house, with a white picket fence and sunshine yellow door. “Home sweet home,” she says with an atrocious force. She wasn’t welcome through the door, so instead she walks to the side. A window. She climbs the side of the house, inside the window, and stands in their kitchen. He’s sitting at the table, nursing a bottle of water. In a moment he was in front of her, his beautiful eyes agonized. Her resolve faded, but then it hardened once more. He deserved this. He deserved whatever her actions were doing to him. She hoped they were causing him as much pain as he had caused her. Her thoughts were malicious, and clearly this was reflected on her face. He took an involuntary step backwards, frowning. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting this sort of response. She continued to defy her instincts; she wanted to reach out her arms and pull him closer, hold him tightly. Forever. But instead she glared up at him with red, swollen eyes. "I cheated on you.”

One, icy smooth hand caught her wrist, pulling it towards him. He stared at her face with a horrified expression on his angelic face. She tore her arm away, trying to hide the pain from him. When he spoke again, it was an anguished whisper. “I don’t believe you.”

I wanted to exclaim his name, and throw myself at him, as I often had in the past. The precious and glorious past. Those had been perfect months. I wanted to go straight back to him, to go straight back that happiness, but my wounded pride would somehow not let me. “I met him at the club. We danced – really danced. I was with someone else. Someone who wasn’t you.”

Something in her eyes must have frightened him—perhaps it was the battle that occupied her mind, because he rocked back on his heels. “We can fix this. It doesn’t have to fall apart. Carrie, you won, but the game doesn’t have to be over. We don’t have to be over.”

Carrie didn’t smile. "But I’m still a beast at bay," she said, in a low, hoarse voice. "Get ready, Johnny." She turned to grasp the knife from the kitchen table with damp palms, feeling the rough familiarity of the handle chafe her skin. She lifted the blade with trembling fingers, and pressed it against the delicate, skin of his forearm, drawing it across, hard enough to penetrate the skin. Crimson liquid welled up, and a single drop fell. It was always easier after the first cut. Her gaze flickered automatically to the window that was always left open when she had climbed in. She looked away, towards the chair he had abruptly vacated when she entered. He was there, his golden eyes staring at her with an intensity that she realised she missed. But Carrie couldn't go near him—her shredded heart made sure of that. His gaze was troubled as he took in the cuts, the knife. With more confidence and conviction, she turned the knife to herself.

"Why are you here?" Her voice was dead, emotionless.

He frowned, his eyes seemingly unable to meet her. "Carrie, why are you doing this to yourself?"

"Answer my question."

"I love you," he choked.

“Love isn’t always enough.”

The blade moved again, and she cut almost unconsciously, although the slash was as intense as ever. Carrie could hear his masculine voice, screaming to stop. It sounded angry, and she smirked at the words. She cut slowly now, defying him. It was clearly causing him pain, and she reveled in the anger. She took the knife, pressing it against her chest, which was protected only by a thin layer of cotton. It would be so easy just to take her life. Carrie felt the blade rip her shirt, piercing her skin, and she felt the blade slip. She pressed down. Pain. The hunter was silent. The watcher wept.

Death was forgiveness.

Death was an awakening.

Death was her most dangerous game.