ATTENTION:
The following passage may or may not make sense to any of the previous or future posts on this "story". This "story" is merely a mix of exerts from the demented mind of a slightly demonic author. These paragraphs may be compared to, "a twisted, gorier version of the classic Goosebumps stories, only more mind-bottling and suspenseful," as quoted by my own mother. Most end in blood, death, or a cliff-hanger. I'm not promising that you will ever be saved from these cliff-hangers, either. So be prepared for a suspenseful climax, and then shear end, with nothing more than a cold brick wall to slam into. Kind of like jumping off a building, and expecting pavement and death, and only receiving falling for eternity. So, enough rambling. Enjoy, and please leave a review of my story or message me! =)
Who? Who could she turn to now?
She stared down at the corpse that lie limp in her arms. Once a person, a friend to her, was now nothing more than a rotting heap of flesh and organs lying dumb in her tight grip. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks, like rivers streaming through a series of lolling foot hills. They seared ravenously on her fleshy cheek bones as they wound their way through the crevices and cracks in her skin. Her eyes blurred as more of the smoldering tears came. They seemed to dissolve into her flesh, only trapping the intense heat they carried, beneath her skin, making her flush and fever-like. Her skin, in the areas that had contained this acid-like burning sensation, were scarlet, and hot to the touch.
Hugging the body to her chest, she let the searing tears fall, like hot wax droplets. Sobs choked her throat, leaving her gasping for raspy breaths, and her chest heaving hard with every throbbing thump of her heart. On her knees, in the pool of dripping blood that had come from his corpse, she sobbed like a child. Her grieving heart ached for the times when he was still alive, and she had a reason to live as well.
A memory played heart-breakingly slow through her head. As other memories joined it, forming a contorted collaboration of thoughts, like a complicated soup, she cried harder. The pains were of this memory;
She was smiling. They were standing on her front porch. The porch swing lazily rocked back and forth in the autumn breeze. The view from the porch was like none other in the country. It had a gorgeous view of their farm, beyond that, the valley and forest, and then, millennium away it seemed, the mountains. The porch faced the west, and every day, the sun set directly over the humble peaks, declaring it's goodnight to the country.
The view was indescribable. There was just no way to correctly pronounce, to the depth it required, how incredible the peaks of the mountains looked when the last bit of erie sunlight cast long shadows over the land. Or how gorgeous the streaming river looked, reflecting the golden sunset in it's shimmering waters. How the bit of light that peaked around the mountains cast a gorgeous glow around the rocky exterior, making everything look supernatural and holy. How the sky danced with hues of colors unseen anywhere but on the base of an artist's canvas.
Or how it felt to witness it all, the beauty, the glow, the warmth of the last sliver of lingering sunlight, and to know that you will feel this every day for the rest of your life, if you were to just stand here.
But eventually, the sun does set. And this particular sunset, was the last one he would ever see, and perhaps, the most beautiful.
Where she sat now, kneeling in the pool of crimson that leaked slowly from his body, she remembered this sunset, and wondered why. Why did it have to be so soon? Why did he have to leave her here, instead of take her? Why did he not say goodbye if he knew this would happen?
But one question lingered above all in her head, proud to proclaim itself as dictator of her mind's focus.
Why...
had she killed him?