Friday, June 18, 2010

Not a review. A short story I wrote.

this is something i wrote. if can call it a story, do.

Together In Death

The wind blows. He sits on the deck, watching the sunset over the lake. He takes another sip of his drink, he laughs. She paid for all this. She paid for all this with her life. He looks down at his hands. He takes another sip, swallows, her whiskey catches in his throat, making him cough. There's red under his fingers. The wind continues to blow, harder now, it seems. It roars through the trees, makes it sound like he's at the ocean. Not in northern minnesota, not with a dead woman in his basement. The thought makes him shudder. I have a dead body on my hands, He says to himself. He says it again to make it real. It is real when you do it with your own hands. When her last breath is breathed on your wrist as you choke the life out of her. When her blood stains your fingers, you can wash and scrub, but the red stays. For life. He digs at his nails, to no avail. He sees red. He sees red as she tells him she is leaving. No, he has to leave. She comes down stairs in that red dress. The one she knows drives him wild. She tells him he has to go, she has had fun, but it's over now. It has to be done. She has met someone new. No she's not going back to her husband, this new man is completely different. This new man will be here any moment.

He finishes his whiskey. He throws his glass over the rail, just to listen to the crack and crash of glass breaking on the rocks. A million little pieces that can never, no matter how hard you try, can be put back together in their original form. Like my life, he says out loud. The doorbell rings, an old classic sound. A ding-dong from hell. From real life, snapping him back to reality.

This new man is here. He has to answer the door. He opens the door.

Hello? No, no one lives here by that name. I am sorry she must have given you the wrong address. Yes I have heard of her, but never met her. Everyone has heard of her. Would kill to meet her. Won't you please come in?

He lights a cigarette. He has never been allowed to do that in this living room. He smiles as he inhales. It feels good, to break the rules. This new man looks at him.

So you are a friend of hers? Going somewhere nice, you sure do look nice. Yes you may use the phone. Right through there.

He breathes deep. The tobacco calming his nerves. Slowly. This new man returns.

Didn't she answer? You got a busy signal? I'm sorry. You do look nice tonight. Where did you say you were taking her? Here sir, let me straighten your tie.

He approaches his neck, taking hold of the bow tie, pulling...

Pulling, tugging, yanking, tighter and tighter he draws the the tie closed. He closes the veins, this new man's face in shock, looking purple turning blue. Gasping for air. He grits his teeth in effort as the man's life is now in his hands. He closes them snuffing out the light. Turning it off, choking it out. Tying it off.

Shit. Another body. Another corpse to deal with.

In the basement he swings a pickaxe. Bits of brick shower him as he chip... chip... chips away at the wall. A hole big enough for two. Two that wanted to be together. Two that were never meant for each other. That would never work, that would never be together. Except in death. They can be together in death.

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