Love's Such an Old Fashioned Word

     The rain was coming down in heavy sheets but I didn’t pay any attention. My clothes were already soaked through anyway. I stared down at my dirty shoes as I walked. The pounding of the rain on the pavement was an orchestra to my ears. I knew exactly where I was going. To his house. I always ended up there no matter where I was originally heading. He never knew I was there. I was good at going unnoticed. I had years of practice. At first I hated being invisible to most people but now having mastered that skill I used it to my advantage. I only wished he would notice me. In my dreams he did. In my dreams we were together. Together forever. In real life he was with some one else. It sickened me to watch those two together. In my most hidden fantasies I was the one next to him. I was the one exchanging kisses under the moonlight. Me! Not some dim-witted s**t.

     A tear fell from my eye blending perfectly into the rain as I arrived outside his house. His house was one of the largest on the block and was set back from the street, so I wouldn’t be visible to any one passing by.  His bedroom was the only one on the first floor of the house which made everything easier for me. That and the large bush in front of the window. The bush was practically hollow inside. Quickly I slipped inside and parted the branches just enough so I could see in the window. He was home. And he had his little s**t in his room with him. The s**t was on top of him and they were kissing passionately. A small laugh escaped my lips as I recalled a popular song. I watched intently as they kissed.  I imagined that it was me in there. I thanked God for my vivid imagination. For over an hour I watched them. Then I quickly slipped out of the bush and down the drive way, heading towards my own house, where I knew I would fall into a deep slumber where I would dream about my beloved.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

     The next day I ran into him in the hallway. As always he looked like a dark god. He gave me a small smile before walking over to the w***e. I held back my tears as I walked slowly to class. I kept asking myself over and over again. Why did it have to be some w***e that he loved? A w***e who would break his heart. Why couldn’t it be me? I would never hurt him. I would treat him like he deserved to be treated. I would give him whatever he wanted.

     I pondered these questions through the rest of the day. Not paying attention to anything. When I got home I went straight to my father’s room and grabbed his gun. I took it into my room and sat down on the edge of the bed, savoring the feeling of the cold metal. I put the tip of the gun to my lips and kissed it, closing my eyes. I imagined that it was not the cold metal of a gun but the warm lips of the one I loved. I don’t know how long I sat there but when I opened my eyes daylight had faded and the night was reigning. Getting up, I made to put the gun in my dresser but instead I put it in my pocket knowing my father wouldn’t miss it and headed out. I was planning on going to a restaurant but I ended up heading towards his house. I always ended up at his house.

     I reached his house and hid behind a tree as he locked the front door and got in his car. When he was well down the road I went up to the house. Heading straight for his window I glanced around to make sure no one was around. Finding myself completely alone, I went to his window. I was delighted to find that it was open so I quickly and expertly pulled the screen out and slipped inside. For a moment I just stood there taking in everything. Into the bathroom I went where the shower was still wet. I stood there inhaling the scent of the soap that was used to clean the Apollo-like body of my dark god. Lost in my fantasies I was happy for a brief moment. One fleeting moment and then depression had me back in its cold, dark grip. Sighing, I went back into his bedroom. I was going to see if I could find anything interesting when I heard someone coming down the hall. Quickly I slipped into the closet, thankful that I had remembered to shut the window and pull the curtains. It was my god and his w***e. Both were a bit drunk. I watched as they passionately embraced, trying to control my blinding rage. They fell on the bed, the w***e giggling, inflaming my rage even more. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my father’s gun. The gun that I was now glad I had brought. I clutched the gun, the metal warmed by the heat from my skin. It seemed as if the gun leeched all the heat from my body. The gun gave me comfort. Coldly I smiled as I open the closet door all the way. My god and his w***e were so lost in their passion that they didn’t notice me at first. The looks of shock on their faces as they saw me standing over them with the gun, like a modern Grim Reaper, sent shivers up and down my spine. The cold smile never left my face as I told the w***e to go stand over by the window. The w***e was pleading with me tears soaking into the rich blue carpet. My god had yet to speak; he just kept looking at me with fear in his eyes. Excitement running through my veins I walked slowly towards the w***e. Her eye widened in fear and she got on her knees begging for her worthless life. My sinister god finally spoke up, pleading for her life. Rage. Pure and fiery rage replaced my excitement. Without another word I grabbed the w***e. Picking her up, I brought the gun right to her heart. With one last laugh I pulled the trigger. Blood. Red and beautiful blood, spilled onto the carpet, soaking in and turning the blue a ghastly purple. “Why?” My dark god asked me.

     Silent, I looked at him, love filling my heart. He was truly perfect. Like a fallen angel. Like Lucifer. He kept staring at me. His beautiful eyes wide with fear. Delicious fear that made him even more irresistible to me. I walked toward him and he shrunk back, kicking the covers off the bed. Grabbing him I pulled him to me, embracing him. “Why?” He asked again. “She was your sister.”

     Anger overcame me again. That w***e was no sister. A sister wouldn’t be so cruel to torture me by parading around with the man I love.     

     He tried to escape my grip but he had no chance against me. I was the stronger man here and he knew it. When I kissed him he turned away, tears running down his cheeks. Sighing out of annoyance, I placed the gun against his stomach and shot him once. I didn’t want to have to ruin his beautiful body but I had to hold him. I wanted to feel his body against mine and the gun was the only way. The gun always ends up being the only way.

 

Reviews

[witchiekatez]

do you know i love poe too? this story is awesomely written.

[Hannah Zwick]

This piece was dark and beautiful. From the moment I read the word "orchestra" I was captivated. The story was incredibly well written and the twist was amazing.

[Eriqe Mangum]

Success...Disturbing in the tale, but amazingly writen. A great read for any fans of King or Poe. If it is your dearest desires to be compared to that of Poe. Then you are officially on your way. This is a twisted peice with more truth to it than mankind would gladly admit. But I will admit. This is beautiful and tickles my fancy. You are trully an amazing writer. I wish I could only compare. I am still waiting for that one that will make me gag or wet myself. So you still have work to do. Keep it up, my dear.

[The Last Wayward Son]

I find it's interesting for this type of read to come from a woman... And my amazement is matched only by my applaud: Congrats on the conception and delivery of a great read. Keep it up! You might just start a trend with works like this one!

[TL Boehm]

this truly is a darkly riveting piece. It is difficult for some writers to go here...the masters do it. King, Chrichton - it is the passionate action many of us may secretly desire but would never pursue. Disturbing is not a bad thing for a writer and this is a disturbing piece of fiction which makes it a gripping read. peace.