Death Scene

 

Like every scene of a crime where the police finds a trail of blood leading to a shoe that also leads to the body of a young girl who was raped in the middle of the night in a placid country road...

 

This was where I saw her lying. Just looking at her frail body, I instantly knew that she was gone. Searching for her was like the cliché of finding a needle in a haystack but the terror of the pointed object in this truism pierced through my chest hitting my cardiac organ.

 

I can still remember the last time I saw her inside my room. She was standing by the window as if she had been waiting for me for a very long time, like what she always did. She was gazing at the sunset and not speaking a word, not giving any hint of deference towards my arrival. I knew that she was feeling lonely. I didn’t have a choice. I thought that keeping her locked in my room would make her realize how much I had been wanting to take care of her, to show her I loved her, to make her feel that I needed her in my life and for the rest of it.

 

It may sound absurd if you notice that I was pathetically obsessed with her as Humbert Humbert to Lolita, as a bee to a flower, as a madman to insanity. Yes, I loved her with all of the things I knew about the f*****g word, with all of my senses, with all of my being. Sadly enough, I was not the kind of man she deserved. I couldn’t make her happy, couldn’t give her happiness and satisfaction. I had deprived of her freedom and the very sense of her existence. I needed her because I just didn’t want to be lonely and I must confess… I only needed her not because I loved her but because I loved the thought that I was in love with someone, you know what I mean? I know that she deserved to be outside, playing with her kind, with her age, with the other creatures who could make her feel that she belonged in that place instead of staying inside my somber room, instead of living with my indifference and impotency (let me make it clear that I never had any sexual fantasies towards her).

 

It was then that I let her go. It was not an act of piety from me but of self-liberty on account of the unbearable feeling of shame and guilt that had become my daily allowance of disturbance. I didn’t know if she was looking at me when she walked out through my door because I didn’t want to see her leave. I didn’t want her to see me trembling, to see traces of anxiety on my brows and a contradicting pound of relief on my lips. She walked away without saying any goddamn word.

 

Hours had passed, then the pain struck me. A longing hit me like it was the first time I felt a pang in my heart so badly. I admit that I may be incredible in the negative sense of the word but I would never let her leave just like that. So I stormed outside to find her. I felt a strange coldness from the beads of sweat that swarmed on every epidermis of my body when I was not able to see the trace of her footsteps. I started walking down the highway under the scorching sun. It was like finding color back to my vision and sound to my hearing that just seeing a part of her shadow could bring me back to my senses. But all that I felt was the lump in my throat maneuvering the overwhelming numbness of my body.

 

It was already dusk when I found her lying naked on the ground. Despite the grass that covered her face, I knew that the body belonged to her. I stared at her blankly. I couldn’t fathom what I felt. Worse, I couldn’t feel a thing. But a presumption had clouded my thoughts… Had she been abused? I asked myself.

 

Still, the visual scene was like a film noir. The only vivid images I could see were her tiny legs and broken neck that brought consciousness towards my emotion disclosed by the tears streaming down my eyes and all that I could utter was:

 

“Goodbye, my pet ant, Chicken. I'm sorry.”

 

Reviews

[Lying Is My Hobby]

I almost laughed when i arrived at the last line. You went from a gloomy setting to "pet ant, Chicken.".

Good twist, bad story.

This TYPE of twist was what I was looking for. You lead the readers into thinking something else, then surprise them with a different conclusion than the one they assumed.

But the story overall was not good. You put a twist in there, but ruined the story. Incorrect use of a twist.

Remember, good job on the twist, but next time, try to use the twist into making the story better.