Murder Between The Roses

An old school assignment that became more. The goal was to create a suspense story in the style of Poe. Tell me what you think about the ending! What happens?

I lay awake again, at an unseemly midnight hour-- sick, with a passionate agony that fills my throbbing soul. The walls of my banal sleeping chamber appear-- as if I am surrounded by pursuing assailants-- to be gradually advancing upon me, and will soon entangle my entire existence in their deep shadows… This thought subtly occurs to me as it leaks through those of the beautiful maiden-- to whom my melancholy heart belongs. And then to him.The one Arabelle so covets and I-- hate. Once again, I have abandoned my pursuit of sweet dreams that come with slumber, and wander-- like a lost hope-- out into the silent darkness beyond my chamber door. I need to see her, the one who fills my thoughts every waking hour.
A gentle draft rolls over the smooth masonry of the hallway-- as though it were the life breath of some horrible stone beast that has engulfed me. I am alone-- in the dark. Could it be the darkness that has engulfed me? That swallowed me up in its clutches, in its shady shackles? I ponder this a moment but quickly push it aside, for I found the thought unsettling. I have come upon an open balcony, praising an ostentatious victorian rose garden, kindly illuminated by dispersed lamp posts. The flirtatious colors of the thorned roses are muted by the night-- but then restored by the lamp light.And there she is-- my fervid heart flutters at the sight-- of her, amid the night. My Arabelle, a French princess. She is as softhearted and pleasant as the moon. Her sweet and innocent atmosphere seems amiss as it contrasts the hinted promiscuity of the flushed roses, and I think how much more beautiful she is in comparison, for she overwhelms the roses in her shadow of innocent perfection. I think of calling out to her-- making my presence known-- but I wouldn’t dare taint the grand view before me with the inadequacy of myself. So I remain in the shadows, atop the balcony, unseen, unknown, to my love. A broad voice cuts through the dark silence like a scalpel, calling out, to my Arabelle. It is the voice of my bane, my adversary, my competitor. I spot him advancing hastily upon Arabelle. The Duke, Alderic. Just uttering his very name ignites fires in my soul. I watch as he painstakingly closes the distance between them. She turns, as if startled, and I grimace with jealousy as my heart breaks to see her with him. Arabelle is mine. I will have her. The grand view has been spontaneously soiled with the appearance of Alderic as he bows before her and kisses her hand. He is grossly piquant, She blushes and turns away from his avid eyes. Even from here the contrast between them is disconcerting-- his gaudy appearance against her elegant persona. “That should be me,” I murmur to myself, as my increasingly red heart fills with contempt.
She seems as though something is being pressed upon her, his artificial affection, perhaps? That seems the most appropriate conclusion, as he might as well be desperately throwing himself at her. She is uncomfortable-- and I want to rescue her, save her from his endearment. I know not for certain if his affection is genuine, but the thought that it is makes me sick. Finally I cannot withstand the sight of them, nor can I avert my eyes, for Arabelle’s rare beauty compels me to continue gazing upon her. I am the dismal moth, she is the confounding flame, that which I long to be near. Arabelle is mine. How dare he try to court her! To ruin her perfection, her innocence! Alderic is fanning the very flames in my heart that will ultimately be the cause of his demise. Barreling up from the pit of my soul is the desire for him to vanish- gone from my sight, her presence, and this world. Gone from existence. He is impeding me on what should by my place beside Arabelle-- and it will be mine. She will be mine… My, you must think me mad! I have been rambling like an old man, riddled with impetuousness . But oh how I yearn for her, even to sit alongside her-- and as I think of this, being like an old man is now delightful-- as long as she is near.
I glance back to the incipient pair in the lavish garden and my crippled heart breaks a little further but fills with enmity and overflows with burning jealousy… Alderic’s hand is on Arabelle’s elegant waist, and hers at his shoulder as they sway to and fro on the brick layden walk-way. Just them, in the dark. He will be breathless and deceased. My whole soul instantly turns sour,a wrathful, lurid crimson that conquers all countenance and peace of mind. I want him gone-- dead-- away from my sweet, delicate, Arabelle. The image of them in that pernicious embrace begins the dissolution of all tranquil thoughts and actions. I am blinded by the phosphorescent red that emanates from my violent being.
I find my way to the garden now, my hungry hands find Alderic’s thumping throat-- and constrict-- squeezing his lavish life away. Suffocating. Gasping...Finally-- death.
It is done, the red --gone. Arabelle is shrieking, in utter horror. She seems so far away, but her discordant screams are so close...and she is beautiful, radiant-- in the dark.
What was left of my heart is shattered, by the ghastly expression on her face, the look of anger, horror, and confusion. It was only me, and her, between the roses. And everything started fading away, increasingly darker shades of grey. Everything is receding into an abyss as I sense myself slipping into unconsciousness, absolute darkness.

Author's Note

Remember I was trying to mimic Poe, mind the dashes and run on sentences