Dear Reader,
The outline of your curviture is ever so present in my mind, as the tasteless fiend of loss lingers. Your eyes sparkle like the sunlight reflecting off a whale, and they are as blue as the ocean. Your brows were always furrowed over them, contemplating the mundane madness of the everyday. Then, there was your thin, pursed lips, that only opened out of importance, out of necessity. The silence that rang from them echo in my ears vividly.
So solemn, so serene. You always hated your reflection. The way your nose looked flat, or your skin looked dry. Of course, I never noticed any of it. Every morning, with your perfectly still fingers, you carefully traced every puzzling intricacy that adorned your face. And every morning, I let out a pang of defeat when you locked yourself away to trace and judge. For hours, you stood, staring in the hollow glass, looking for any off-putting detail. You were always a skeptic, so it never surprised me when you turned away with disbelief whenever I told you how I thought you looked. Could you lock yourself away forever?
It wasn't until the morning of February's last day, when I noticed a slight change. You climbed out of bed with a startling shake, and you quietly rocked back and forth on the comforter. I awoke just an hour later, and I saw the sight unfurling in front of my eyes.
"Why are you shaking?" I called out.
But, I knew you wouldn't respond. You were forever a mute. Although your pursed lips were immovable, the answer was painted in your blue eyes. They were sunk and dull, and your eyelids drooped past halfway down each one. Your brows were pointed upwards, with a sense of innocence and plea. I attempted to quell the shaking, yet you never allowed me to come too close. Then, with a sense of urgency, I looked at the calender.
"Is it time already?" I questioned to the room, while the only response I received was the echo off of the barren walls.
In a fleet of moments, I pulled the sheets from atop of me, I leaped on to the plank floor, and I clutched the Wispy-Haired blanket that lay on the bed. My mind raced with blurry moments, gone too soon, of me and you. There was the moment when I first heard your laugh, and I watched a million butterflies bellow out from your stomach. There was the moment when you smiled, and you revealed your crooked teeth. When you saw that I noticed them, you quickly covered your mouth and giggled. And, I told you not to worry. Then, there was the moment that plastered itself in my mind. The time when I told you what would happen on this February day at noon. You shouted and laughed with pure innocent glee, as if I were joking, but my eyes darted back with that no-nonsense glare. That's when you knew I was dead serious, but that's also when you clamped up, and you became a mute. Even through the silence, I still wanted you to be there until that last moment. At least that's what I whispered in your ear as you rocked yourself with tears at my confession. And, I stared blankly at you. Now, it seems that the thought of pain never truly came to my fruition.
What was I supposed to do? Abandon you, leave you there alone? Let your mind wander with thoughts of indecency and foils of self doubt? I know I shouldn't have, yet it would've made this final memory so much easier.
The clock struck into the double digits, as ten o'clock approached. At the top of the hour, you growled at me with vigor and deceit. For the occasion, I had a list to accomplish. I was now down the hall, trouncing through the kitchen where I needed to prepare. That growl trailed me so quietly, but it lingered. It was the moment when you weren't mine anymore. Cereal boxes were overturned as cabinets went to ruin, while the minutes crept up, and the growl became louder and clearer. Alas, I found it, hiding behind a lonely can of soup, the item shone brightly. It all seemed to be going to fast. How could this day already be here? My entire body shook as I grabbed it with both tremoring hands. And, I held it to my face, and I wept. I won't ever forget it.
Next, I threw the bleak, dark object deep into my pocket, as I scanned my mind for the next item. It was a task, I remember, a simple one at that. I had to make you smile. I wanted to see you grin one last time, before I... I sprinted back into the bedroom, and I sprang onto the bed to sit beside you. Then, I tried to search my mind for anything that could do the trick. But not a limerick, not a story, not a joke, could undo those solemn, pursed lips. Why won't you smile for me? It would be fine, I presumed, for it was almost too late for the last task. However, flooding back to me were memories of adolescent failures and the chants of indecency hurled at me like tomatoes at a clown in the circus. I wasn't a failure. I wasn't a failure.
You then whispered something in my ear, but I couldn't hear it over the ringing in my ears of the inevitable. I think you may have been asking for help, but that's what I was there for. How childish! When, I looked into your eyes to try and remember the last bit of information I was required to retain, I remembered the night before. You were shouting at me, which was an oddity in itself. You were always so quiet, much to my dismay. I guess you remembered what was to happen today. But, when you screamed at me, I wished you would go back to your mute state, for at least I wouldn't have to face the problems you threw my way. You overturned furniture, and you broke a lamp. And, I thought you were overreacting. Of course, telling you that was a mistake I presumed, since your ocean blue eyes began to steam with ire. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was. Isn't there any tradition left in the world?
As my mind raced, the clock reached noon. Although I had only completed the first task, it would be enough. I couldn't remember my list anyway. All I do know, is when the clock struck Twelve, I pulled out the bleak, black object from my pocket, and I held it out in front of me. The face of the gun pointed into your helpless gaze, as you knew what was to come. You shouted at me to put you out of your misery. Finally, a task I could complete. Per request, I cocked the gun, and I shot it twice into your skull. Blood streamed out, as I tried to remember why I committed the trecherous act.
Then, it hit me. February 28th was the anniversary of the day I took you. The day I kidnapped the innocent soul, and plucked it from its family. You looked so pretty sitting there on that doorstep. My father had taught me when I was little, "When you want something take it." He knew I would end up like this. He was just like me. Regret is vile, and yet it never leaves. The itemized list seemed to finally come into fruition as the blood on your cheek began to scab. It was a recipe passed down through generations of hushed, selfish men. Never was it tangible, but forever it is etched in my mind, as the last moment before I drove myself down the dead-end road of a crazed existence.
The Ingredients of a Killer:
The Tears of Delusion
The Persistenence of Failure
And Of Course,
The Unattainable Dream that Regret Will Ever Leave
Sincerely,
a Killer
The outline of your curviture is ever so present in my mind, as the tasteless fiend of loss lingers. Your eyes sparkle like the sunlight reflecting off a whale, and they are as blue as the ocean. Your brows were always furrowed over them, contemplating the mundane madness of the everyday. Then, there was your thin, pursed lips, that only opened out of importance, out of necessity. The silence that rang from them echo in my ears vividly.
So solemn, so serene. You always hated your reflection. The way your nose looked flat, or your skin looked dry. Of course, I never noticed any of it. Every morning, with your perfectly still fingers, you carefully traced every puzzling intricacy that adorned your face. And every morning, I let out a pang of defeat when you locked yourself away to trace and judge. For hours, you stood, staring in the hollow glass, looking for any off-putting detail. You were always a skeptic, so it never surprised me when you turned away with disbelief whenever I told you how I thought you looked. Could you lock yourself away forever?
It wasn't until the morning of February's last day, when I noticed a slight change. You climbed out of bed with a startling shake, and you quietly rocked back and forth on the comforter. I awoke just an hour later, and I saw the sight unfurling in front of my eyes.
"Why are you shaking?" I called out.
But, I knew you wouldn't respond. You were forever a mute. Although your pursed lips were immovable, the answer was painted in your blue eyes. They were sunk and dull, and your eyelids drooped past halfway down each one. Your brows were pointed upwards, with a sense of innocence and plea. I attempted to quell the shaking, yet you never allowed me to come too close. Then, with a sense of urgency, I looked at the calender.
"Is it time already?" I questioned to the room, while the only response I received was the echo off of the barren walls.
In a fleet of moments, I pulled the sheets from atop of me, I leaped on to the plank floor, and I clutched the Wispy-Haired blanket that lay on the bed. My mind raced with blurry moments, gone too soon, of me and you. There was the moment when I first heard your laugh, and I watched a million butterflies bellow out from your stomach. There was the moment when you smiled, and you revealed your crooked teeth. When you saw that I noticed them, you quickly covered your mouth and giggled. And, I told you not to worry. Then, there was the moment that plastered itself in my mind. The time when I told you what would happen on this February day at noon. You shouted and laughed with pure innocent glee, as if I were joking, but my eyes darted back with that no-nonsense glare. That's when you knew I was dead serious, but that's also when you clamped up, and you became a mute. Even through the silence, I still wanted you to be there until that last moment. At least that's what I whispered in your ear as you rocked yourself with tears at my confession. And, I stared blankly at you. Now, it seems that the thought of pain never truly came to my fruition.
What was I supposed to do? Abandon you, leave you there alone? Let your mind wander with thoughts of indecency and foils of self doubt? I know I shouldn't have, yet it would've made this final memory so much easier.
The clock struck into the double digits, as ten o'clock approached. At the top of the hour, you growled at me with vigor and deceit. For the occasion, I had a list to accomplish. I was now down the hall, trouncing through the kitchen where I needed to prepare. That growl trailed me so quietly, but it lingered. It was the moment when you weren't mine anymore. Cereal boxes were overturned as cabinets went to ruin, while the minutes crept up, and the growl became louder and clearer. Alas, I found it, hiding behind a lonely can of soup, the item shone brightly. It all seemed to be going to fast. How could this day already be here? My entire body shook as I grabbed it with both tremoring hands. And, I held it to my face, and I wept. I won't ever forget it.
Next, I threw the bleak, dark object deep into my pocket, as I scanned my mind for the next item. It was a task, I remember, a simple one at that. I had to make you smile. I wanted to see you grin one last time, before I... I sprinted back into the bedroom, and I sprang onto the bed to sit beside you. Then, I tried to search my mind for anything that could do the trick. But not a limerick, not a story, not a joke, could undo those solemn, pursed lips. Why won't you smile for me? It would be fine, I presumed, for it was almost too late for the last task. However, flooding back to me were memories of adolescent failures and the chants of indecency hurled at me like tomatoes at a clown in the circus. I wasn't a failure. I wasn't a failure.
You then whispered something in my ear, but I couldn't hear it over the ringing in my ears of the inevitable. I think you may have been asking for help, but that's what I was there for. How childish! When, I looked into your eyes to try and remember the last bit of information I was required to retain, I remembered the night before. You were shouting at me, which was an oddity in itself. You were always so quiet, much to my dismay. I guess you remembered what was to happen today. But, when you screamed at me, I wished you would go back to your mute state, for at least I wouldn't have to face the problems you threw my way. You overturned furniture, and you broke a lamp. And, I thought you were overreacting. Of course, telling you that was a mistake I presumed, since your ocean blue eyes began to steam with ire. I wanted everything to go back to the way it was. Isn't there any tradition left in the world?
As my mind raced, the clock reached noon. Although I had only completed the first task, it would be enough. I couldn't remember my list anyway. All I do know, is when the clock struck Twelve, I pulled out the bleak, black object from my pocket, and I held it out in front of me. The face of the gun pointed into your helpless gaze, as you knew what was to come. You shouted at me to put you out of your misery. Finally, a task I could complete. Per request, I cocked the gun, and I shot it twice into your skull. Blood streamed out, as I tried to remember why I committed the trecherous act.
Then, it hit me. February 28th was the anniversary of the day I took you. The day I kidnapped the innocent soul, and plucked it from its family. You looked so pretty sitting there on that doorstep. My father had taught me when I was little, "When you want something take it." He knew I would end up like this. He was just like me. Regret is vile, and yet it never leaves. The itemized list seemed to finally come into fruition as the blood on your cheek began to scab. It was a recipe passed down through generations of hushed, selfish men. Never was it tangible, but forever it is etched in my mind, as the last moment before I drove myself down the dead-end road of a crazed existence.
The Ingredients of a Killer:
The Tears of Delusion
The Persistenence of Failure
And Of Course,
The Unattainable Dream that Regret Will Ever Leave
Sincerely,
a Killer