Friday 14 May 2010

A lil something my warped mind conceived. 1.00am

Stunning was not the word. Stunned more like described it. But lent under-credence to the scene.

As he looked at all he had done, he wonndered if he really did it. Or, if he was drugged. Or still sane. Or insane, then came back to saneness. For a breif moment, pride and distate swept over him like the flu. Then guilt and passion.

She was dead. He had killed her.

She was a hoe. Yes. But it wasn't like he wasn't cheating too. What amazed him was the gentility in which she took her death. She didnt scream or flinch. Maybe she had screamed her lungs out while he was fucking her. He just wanted to hear the truth. The truth, had lead to her dead. He should have just used his gun while he could.

He dropped to the sofa. Weak. Unfeeling. Dazed. He wished he could still muster up some courage. The event fo the past 2 hours came to him... so clearly he thought if he scaled through this, he could still make this into a movie and become a millionaire.

Even his train of thought baffled him. He tried to will his body to move, as a fly swept in throught the window and settled on her neck. Her now open neck. He pitied the fly... for her blood had clotted and dried up.

It had happened so suddenly. And so slowly...

He went to the florist straight after work and bought a bouquet of roses. They had argued again. And he wanted to make it up to her. This was his brightest idea, he had thought. At least when she see's the flowers, her mind would melt. That was one of the things he liked about her, her soft mind. Just stroking her hair alone after an arguement would make her cuddle up to him and melt. He'd smelled the roses himself as the shop attendant shot him a queer look. He wasn't bothered. He was doing the right thing.

Getting back into his car he placed the roses carefully on the car seat... And wondered if he should put on the air-conditioning. He didnt know if the roses would wilt in the cold, or the humidity of the Nigerian sun would destroy it. Why does life have too many complications, he wondered. As he drove on the third mainland en route the island, he thought about how wierd it was for him to work on the mainland and live on the island. looking at it the other way round, he didnt know which was better. Never mind, when he reached home complications would melt into one hot loving kiss. He didnt even want to get started about the sex.

Parking outside, he carried the bouquet and locked up the car. He wanted to suprise her. Which would be easy, for they never locked the back door. Humming silently to himself, he barely noticed the heat or the rush and sound of passing cars as he walked up to the back door.

Locked. Strange. Grunting, he tried the handle again. Still locked. He almost knocked, almost screamed out her name. Almost shouted... Honey. Now he wished he had. Not wanting to spoil the suprise, he gingerly removed his shoes, and proceeded to walk toward the front door and unlock it. Walking past thier bedroom window, he stopped to fish out the keys from his pocket. Then he heard it.

Her passionate moans. Her voice getting thinner... then louder. She never groaned or moaned like this when they where having sex. He froze. His clutched the bouquet of roses with both hands tightly and a thorn bit deep into his left thumb.

Her voice became louder... She was barely able to finish her words. He peeped into the window.

And froze. And watched everything.

God, he even gave her head.

He watched her wither, moan, scream and clutch at his head. Kiss him passionatly untill his lips bled. Whoever he was. He watched as she wrapped her legs round his back. Placed her legs on his shoulder. And even knelt down and allowed him to take her from behind.

And when she had suggested those things, he had respecfully turned her down. He wanted to treat women with respect. For her to even think about such things, he had even suggested counselling. He had felt the blood rush to his face and become hot. He remembered how they used to have sex like a mature couple. Lights out. Missionary style. And kissing once in a while.

Now, she collapsed into the bed. He was still gently sucking at her nipple.

The bouquet of roses crashed from his hands. That was what alerted them. Alarm registered on her face. he didnt wait to see what happened next. He couldn't even walk fast. He heard the back door slam shut.

He unlocked the front door. She was standing near the doorway. Clutching at thier already stained bedsheet in an attempt to cover her nakedness. He couldnt read the expression on her face.

He flung the bouquet of roses at her. He could feel his heart beating. That was all he could feel. That was not the only thing he could control. He remembered walking across to her. Holding her head with both hands and savagely kissing her.

She started crying. As he tasted the saltiness of her tears, he became enraged. Throwing her to the floor, he rained blows on her face.

Then he too, started crying.

He pulled her to the kitchen. He was disoriented. He started screaming. His spittle covering her face. He wasnt too sure of what he was saying. He thought he was asking for his name. Whats the fuckers name? He screamed all over and over again. Still dragging her he pressed her head against the kitchen wall and showed her. He had just upgraded the kitchen. For her. His whole salary. He still couldnt make out what he himself was saying. She was still crying. He picked up a knife, not knowing what he wanted to do with it.

Dragging her back to the living room, he pushed her roughly into the sofa. Turned on the t.v. and vcr. And played thier wedding tape. He walked back to the sofa. Forced her to sit on the floor between his legs.

She still wept.

He placed the knife on her neck.... As the tape was rolling. He asked her over and over again. Do you love me. Do you love me. Do you love me. Do you love me. His voice going up a note higher with every repeat of the question. And she kept on crying. And his hands begian to move. He placed his hands on her jaw to keep her from screaming. She did not resist. He didnt mean to cut. His hand just moved.

He felt the tip of the knife press against his trousers. His hands became sticky and warm. He felt life drain out of her.

He closed his eyes and threw her now almost headless body away from him. His tears had stopped. her tears had stopped... forever.

Realising that someone was pounding at the back door... He ran to his wardrobe and extracted his gun. He would not be punished. He would kill himself.

He sat on the sofa. And turned his eye toward her. Her face was directly in front of the now crushed roses. He thought she was smiling. Or smirking.

He heard the back door being banged down. He heard footsteps. More than one person. They were shouting. But that didnt matter to him anymore.

He waited. As the faces of the men came into view...

He raised the gun.... to his head. And pulled the trigger.

Click.

Then he looked at her. And Smiled. Or smirked. There was a fly, and he pitied the fly.

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