Abigail

A Story by JamieDB

A short snapshot of a wider story, kind of like a dramatic monologue but in prose.

Abigail

The rose coloured, silk curtains laid perfectly straight, despite the open window as if the room that lay behind them was isolated from the surrounding world. The deep red of the curtains created mesmerising blades of blood that shimmered across the kitchen and the occupants that were currently laid on its floor. For mere moments it was hard to decipher whether it was a moment of passion or violence. Perhaps both.

The crimson blood crept through the webs of her fingers, sticky and warm to the touch, as she'd expected. The overpowering smell of copper, enflaming her nostrils, bringing tears to her stern eyes; as they creeped down her cheeks, mixing into the red that layered her face, carrying it to the tiled floor that surrounded her, emphasising the brutality of the scene that she had laid out before her. An artist's pride and joy.

Abigail's hands were thrust against the wet, sloppy neck of the man that lay beneath her. Blood was now profusely fleeing from the body that it once inhabited, slowly it was clear that what was once man, was slowly transitioning into a mere object. As the life evaporated from his eyes and the heat of passion transformed towards the cold stone of death, the last moments of life left her father. Leaving them with an uneasy crescendo of silence, only splintered by the weeps of the young girl. Her emotion and confusion that was clearly visible from anyone's perspective, seeming almost juxtaposed with what was once the singular, flickering light in her life, yet now laid motionless, emotionless.

"I'm sorry father." she spoke through a sullen; yet straight face. Tensing her arms and moving with clear control, Abigail withdrew the 8 inch blade from the side of his throat, allowing a renewed stream of near black liquid to flow over the pre-existent puddle on the kitchen floor. It served to extend the puddle as small steams flowed through the cracks between the tiles; creating the effect of a checkers board, seamed with death. The reapers playground.

Sliding the face of the blade along his shirt, Abigail stood with purpose and looked down at her work. A cold shiver of realisation quaked through her, yet the crystal blue eyes glimmered with a twinge of satisfaction. Now her demon was once more, silenced. Looking down at herself, very little of the mess had stayed away from her body it was as if she was now presenting the image of Dante's inferno through her blooded body.

"Goodbye" Although a murderer, manners were of the upmost importance, and when leaving someone behind, a farewell was.. Required. Leaving the room with a calm determination, there was not even a shimmer of guilt to be seen across the structure of her young face.

The wind continued its sullen breeze, unnerved by the events that had just taken place, it was apparent that mother nature was content with the nights events. Darkness set in, and the cloak of the reaper swept through Abigail's childhood street.