Black Satin Dreams
12:30
a.m.
I look at
myself in the vanity mirror. I am like a statue, unmoving.
I look at
the black dress I wear and I see how it doesn't match with the red headband I
wear.
I then walk
up to the attic. I stare at all the cobwebs covering the clothes, the chests,
the mannequins.
I was
programmed to clean away dust and grime, and especially cobwebs. Roger wouldn't
have cobwebs. He said they only make Paradigm darker than it already was. A
society of darkness.
Well who
would be there to sweep away those cobwebs when he was gone? He just assumed I
would stay; along with his children and his mansion. Just because I will live
on forever and he will die doesn't mean…that he should treat me any
differently.
I walk over
to a mannequin and remove the coat off of it and put it on myself.
It was the
only thing besides a small box at my feet that wasn't covered in cobwebs;
probably because of my recent use of them.
I button up
the coat and put the hood over my red hair. It shadows my face so I cannot see
my eyes. That was good. Shadows were always good…to me anyway. You could hide
in shadows.
I kneel
down to the small box at my feet. I open it and smile. What I see in it brings
back vivid memories…Of the night at the Nightingale, the crashed car, the dead
doorman, the blood, the golden tube of red lipstick. All of those memories
fresh in my mind that a superior being like myself is hypothetically I am not
supposed to have.
A moonbeam
of light glints on the item in the box. It shines on the silvery steel barrel.
I pick it
up and admire the piece of metal. Of course it isn't heavy to me at all, what
do you think I am, human?
I slip it
gently into one of my coat pockets and quietly make my way back downstairs.
I come to
the first room along the long corridor. The door is open so I inaudibly ease
inside. I walk over to the crib and see the two twin girls curled up to each
other. Caseey and Patricia. Ugh.
I walk
across the wooden floor. It creaks.
The
children don't wake up though. I knew they wouldn't. I slipped sleeping pills
into their milk.
I look over
to the edge of the crib and aim carefully. I can hear their soft breathing. I
pull the trigger of the gun in my hand and two shots ring out in the silent
night.
No one will
hear of course. Roger's entire mansion is soundproof.
I watch the
blood from their bodies seep into their mattress.
I cannot
hear their breathing anymore.
I walk out
of the children's room and continue into the next room.
There I see
in the corner, curled up in a chair, a fallen angel. Drowning in an illusion of
heaven.
I look to
another place in the room. Under black satin covers lays Roger Smith. The man
who will only and always wear black.
They won't notice me here. I slipped them
sleeping pills as well.
I walk over
to the fallen angel. I press the cold steel to her chest and pull the trigger.
She stops breathing as well and goes limp.
I slip away
from her soundlessly and I watch the red blood soak through her clothing and
into the material of the chair.
I sneak
over to Roger. For a brief moment I sit down next to him on the bed and stroke
his unkempt jet-black hair.
He sleeps peacefully. He seems to
be dreaming about something serene, for a smile has cast about his face.
"Enjoy your dream, Roger. I'm only
doing this for your own good," I say to him, even though I know he cannot hear
me.
I stand up quickly, my mind set on
what I have to do. I aim the gun.
I
watch for a few minutes. I admire his features in the dark. He is a creature
that belongs to the darkness.
I
begin to squeeze the trigger.
He is still smiling. A lock of his
hair falls out of place and rests on his perfect face.
As I pull
the trigger, I say "I hope you meet a true angel in heaven, Roger. Good bye."
A shot
rings out for the fourth time tonight and breaks the peace of the hours of
darkness.
I watch as
he struggles to continue breathing. He finally stops for good and continues to
smile.
He is still
in his black satin dream of darkness.
I turn to
the mirror and look at myself in the red hooded coat.
Walking
down to the foyer I think about what time Norman will return home tomorrow.
No matter.
He will
come home to meet up with an empty house of undying spirits.
I open the
door and walk outside.
While
closing the door, I wonder if Roger has met his angel in heaven yet.
I then run
away, splashing in the puddles and leave no footprints in the damp mud.
