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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1174272-Stone-Cold-Love
Rated: 13+ · Essay · Gothic · #1174272
My contest winning piece. If you read, rate. It takes like 5 seconds.
It has been perhaps seven days since I had last darkened her doorstep. The days since after that evening seem to have congregated together in my mind. Instead of nearly a week of unrest, it seems to have been one infinite day, one excruciatingly long night. I’ve had few sane thoughts since then; my once quick and determined mind has bled into complete insanity. Admitting to my condition of course only further infuriates my anger toward that foul woman. She, the literate daughter of a mad inventor was to be my prize, a trophy for a soul who would have done nothing to displease her. But alas! There was nothing in her cruel mind for me but utter rejection. My pride crushed from her declination of my proposal to matrimony, I left abruptly, ignoring the stares of the foolish peasants going about their petty lives. All this while, I’ve been plotting, scheming. In her final moments of extreme desperation, when she has been overcome with sorrow, she will feel what I have felt for nigh a week.
Deep within my own chest I could feel the beating of my own dismal heart. The heart is a funny thing. So fragile, and yet, so vital. It was deep into the night and the lilies of morn had long hidden their petals from the world. Ever so silently I crept through the French countryside and finally to her back porch. With a subtle squeak, I opened the door and let myself in.
A din was coming from the under story of the house. I approached the stairs leading to the cellar, the workplace of her father. Over the years, the man had become demented by his own ambition and longing to provide for his only daughter Belle.
With extreme caution, I opened the trapdoor leading to his cave of clutter. The room had once been clean when his wife was still among the living. Now it was merely a disaster of failed experiments.
He was there. Hovering over a page covered in mathematical equations was the father of my love. As I pulled a thin blade out of my breast pocket, he saw me not. My presence was unknown to everyone in exclusion to myself. The motion was quick, but lethal none the less. In his final moments, no screams were vocalized. I removed my knife, now coated thickly with crimson blood. I smiled despite the fact that if I were to be caught; I would no doubt be contained in an asylum, destined to live out the rest of my days in solitude.
“But,” I reminded myself, ‘that is the ingenuity of my plan.”
There she was. Waiting in the hallway I stood admiring her thick brown locks. She was dressed in a gown made of sunlight. The simple, yet elegant beauty sat combing her auburn hair and staring longing at an expensive mirror. The only thing standing between my victim and I was air. I tightened the grip on my knife, daring myself to continue. Stepping closer to her, I wondered if even blind rage could force me to harm such an innocent creature.
I held my knife inches away from the flesh of her neck, ready to make the deadly incision. It was at this time when my morbidity had reached a peak that I felt something cold pass through my body. I saw through my ribs an icy dagger. My killer was a frightening creature, covered with bestial fur. My lady turned around and I crumpled to the floor.
“Do you love me now?” I asked in a melodious voice as if I had already traveled to the other side.
My mind slipped into an abyssal darkness, my soul destined for oblivion long before my final words were answered.
At her feet I met my demise. As my face paled and my blood sank deep into the maple floors, she shed no tears over the corpse that would soon rot in her home.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1174272-Stone-Cold-Love