I locked the door, not wanting anyone to intrude upon my solitude.
Who would, though? Nobody here liked me-except Magenta, but she wouldn't
be much in the way of company. I didn't laugh at my little joke, finding
it immediately distasteful. I peeked in at the bathtub, where she lay,
soaking in her own blood. For some macabre reason, she reminded me of
meat, marinating in a sauce made of its own broth. My stomach turned,
revolted, but I couldn't imagine her anymore as a person, my sister, my
lover. Magenta herself had left this body long before I had broken the
body itself. Magenta would have been faithful, Magenta would have obeyed.
Magenta wouldn't have let any of this happen...Magenta would have made all
of this better.
I reached my hand into the tub, immersing my hand into the blood to pull the plug. I would never have imagined there would have been so much blood. I watched it swirl down the drain, wiping my hand on my shirt, leaving a bloody handprint on my chest, where she must have touched me thousands of times. The tub, now empty, was still stained a reddish hue. Magenta herself looked saturated in the fluid. I turned on the tap, letting the water run over her, covering her ankles, breasts, and face. The water quickly turned pink, and I grabbed the cloth hanging over the edge, and taking Magenta's arm, I started scrubbing. Moving over her body, I soon rubbed off all hint of red, leaving a white paler then I had ever seen her.
God, she was cold. As I lifted her out, water dripped from her hair to my feet, startling me. Laying her on the carpeted floor of our bedroom, water bloomed from her hair and skin onto the carpet. I left her, heading back to the bathroom for a towel, red, appropriately. I hesitated a moment, before facing her again. I feared she would have moved; that knife so recently embedded in her would find its way to her hand, aimed at me.
More frightening still, she hadn't moved at all. She lay just the same as before, motionless, forever motionless. Never again would her small, perfect chest rise with the intake of air, never again would she bite her lip in thought, never again would her beautiful eyes rest on anybody other than me.
She was mine now, all mine. Even she couldn't stop me. No more quiet, reluctant, "No, Riff"s. She was my possession, my little toy.
I reached my hand into the tub, immersing my hand into the blood to pull the plug. I would never have imagined there would have been so much blood. I watched it swirl down the drain, wiping my hand on my shirt, leaving a bloody handprint on my chest, where she must have touched me thousands of times. The tub, now empty, was still stained a reddish hue. Magenta herself looked saturated in the fluid. I turned on the tap, letting the water run over her, covering her ankles, breasts, and face. The water quickly turned pink, and I grabbed the cloth hanging over the edge, and taking Magenta's arm, I started scrubbing. Moving over her body, I soon rubbed off all hint of red, leaving a white paler then I had ever seen her.
God, she was cold. As I lifted her out, water dripped from her hair to my feet, startling me. Laying her on the carpeted floor of our bedroom, water bloomed from her hair and skin onto the carpet. I left her, heading back to the bathroom for a towel, red, appropriately. I hesitated a moment, before facing her again. I feared she would have moved; that knife so recently embedded in her would find its way to her hand, aimed at me.
More frightening still, she hadn't moved at all. She lay just the same as before, motionless, forever motionless. Never again would her small, perfect chest rise with the intake of air, never again would she bite her lip in thought, never again would her beautiful eyes rest on anybody other than me.
She was mine now, all mine. Even she couldn't stop me. No more quiet, reluctant, "No, Riff"s. She was my possession, my little toy.
