Heya, everyone! so this was literally written in 10 minutes at 11:00 at night, and I have no idea where this is from! It's kinda angsty and there's a surprise at the end, so enjoy!
HPloveofmylife
There is no light in the room.
Dark clouds cover the sky, hiding the moon.
There is a silhouette against a far wall.
You can hardly discern the person from the wall.
And there are two crumpled figures on the floor, lying eagle-winged.
One is a girl.
One is a boy.
The person against the wall surveys the handiwork and twirls the butcher's knife in their fingers.
The boy on the floor has his throat slit, nice and clean – the person against the wall is proud.
The girl is worst – there is a cut straight down her stomach, leaving the two pieces of skin on either side hanging open. Her hair is clotted with blood, unlike its usual glossiness. And her throat is slit too.
The girl against the wall is smirking, dangling the knife precariously between bare hands. She does not plan to escape if the police come, which they will.
A few clouds part outside the window, sending a sliver of light dancing across the floor of the blood-stained room, lighting up the figure in the room. She is still hazy, and not clear against the dark wall behind her. Her eyes hold a look of pure insanity, her lip curled back in a happy smile at her own creation.
She looks down with proud at the two dead people before her, and, if possible, her grin widens. This is the way it should be, she thinks happily, they deserve this way.
But they do not.
They were good people. They lived the perfect life.
They were in love, heavily in love. They had just bought their first house together and were planning on getting married as soon as the girl could get rid of her ex-husband. They paid their bills, they never shoplifted. They did not deserve to die at the hands of someone they had trusted with their lives.
The girl steps around the moonlight, the maniac look in her eyes intensifies. And as she looks down at the forms of her best friends – they could be sleeping – she feels a maniacal grin slide over her face.
And then, she begins to laugh.
She drops the knife and doubles over, clutching her stomach as her laughter rings through the forever silent house, bouncing off the walls and coming back to her own ears. She collapses to her knees right between the two figures on the ground.
She reaches out a hand to touch the boy's cheek – his skin is pale and clammy, and she grins wider. And then her hand brushes the girl's curls away from her eyes, and the girl's eyelids flutter close as she feels the heat drain from her best friend's cheek. She stays there for a while, just sitting there, her knees soaking in their blood.
The clouds part fully, bathing the room in light, and the girl in the middle looks up, staring at the window almost as though she can sense someone standing there. The light throws her into sharp relief, and she smiles knowingly, her dark eyes looking more insane than ever. Her dark brown hair covers one side of her face, and she continues to smile.
They are dead. Her best friends are dead.
But it is not her fault.
If only he had fallen in love with the right girl – her – then they wouldn't be in this mess.
But he didn't, and they are.
The girl glances down at her hands and sees they are coated in blood. She wonders idly if they will ever be clean but then she realizes:
She does not want them to be clean, for they are a reminder of what she has done.
They are dead and gone forever, at her hands, at the hands of a girl they loved and trusted.
And she failed them.
Her name is Carly Shay.
She is crazy.
She is sick.
She has no sanity left.
She has killed Samantha and Fredward Benson.
Her name is Carly Shay.
She is a murderer.