the Dying Love

The Dying Love

year of the blood

I Knew hell was all around me. I could feel it.
I could taste it. I could smell it. Like I
said I knew it was around me but never in me
until now. In my heart, in my soul it was. Yes,
it was strong as it took control of my mind.
The blinding white flashes of hatred filled my
eyes when I saw the pictures of her neatly framed
and arranged on his mantle above his fireplace.
HIS mantle, HIS fireplace.

She had been mine at one time. All mine.
At one time we made love till the night’s end.
At the time, at least, we called it love, now
SHE calls it sex, just sex, nothing else. Just
a lay, a good screw. At one time we would hug
and kiss each and compliment each other.
She was at one time, very important to me. Now,
she’s dead. Shhhhhhhh….don’t tell anyone.

He stepped back into the room carrying two cups
of coffee. Sipping from one while he handed me
the other. I took it but did not drink from it.
It was too hot for that just yet.
He wore his red velvety smoking jacket with black
trousers on. His hair combed perfectly to one
side with a perfectly trimmed beard and moustache.
He smiled as he looked at me looking down into
my cup of coffee.

He smiled at me with a my shit don’t stink grin
and asked me to please have a seat. I declined.
Only staying for a short while. Looking somewhat
disappointed he sat down on his lavish black
leather couch and crossed his legs. He looked
down to his coffee then back up at me.

“What can I do for you then?” he asked politely
yet sternly.

I turned my back to him to study myself in the
large gold trimmed mirror that hung over the
mantle. My eyes focused on myself staring at me
then drifted back down to the pictures of her. So
beautiful she was. Standing there in various
poses. One really caught my attention, though.
She was standing there with him. They held each
other closely. Smiling at the person taking the
picture. Damn them.

I laughed hysterically and turned around to face
him. He set up a bit with a dumb, stunned look on
his face. His red smoking jacket pulled open a
bit. Peekaboo!!! I see your chest.

I stepped towards him and swung my fist holding
the cup of hot coffee at him. Knocking it and
shattering it on his face. He staggered back a
bit off of his couch then finally crashed down on
the rich white carpet of the floor.

He screamed some curse words as the hot coffee
and blood mixed together. His eyes were shut
tightly to keep whatever from going into them.

I grabbed something from somewhere. I think it
was a lamp from one of his end tables. Before he knew
what was going to happen I slammed it down on his
head. Knocking him out instantly.

When his eyes opened again I had
him lying on my bed. His hands tied to my bedposts,
his feet bound by chains. He struggled to release
himself but the blow to the head was too great.
He looked up at me and mumbled something then rolled
His head over to his left side. That’s when he saw her
Lying there. Her body cold and limp, rigor mortis
had yet to set in, she stared up towards the ceiling
with a cloudy haze over her blue eyes.

So pretty she was.

Fear then took control of him and he yelled and
screamed as he shook violently to free himself of
His bonds.

“sssssshhhhhh…my sweet prince” I spoke softly,
“all will be well.”

“wh..wh..what do you want?” he asked.

“I wanted love…I wanted her love…”

“She loved you…” he yelled.

“But was with you…then, I wanted you, then, I
wanted you both…now I can have you both…in my
own private hell…”

I stepped towards the bed and unbuckled my belt.

“Care to dance?” I asked then laughed.

the end….