Adieu

For my english class

 

His heart was pounding. He could have sworn he saw the doorknob move. He never could have imagined the amount of fear the motion of a brass ball could inspire, or that’s what it looked like from where I was. He readjusted his tired eyes back to the place of his work. Things had gone amazingly well so far. No interruption, no witnesses. My body lay upon the floor; I had grown much colder without the circulation of blood. He examined his work thoroughly. I stared up to the ceiling with my blue eyes, not longer the blue eyes I had seen through in live, but these pair were empty blue pools resting upon my pale face.

         The man walked around the body several times; admiring it further. His anxiety of any unlucky person walking in on the show subsided. He knelt down next to me, a lifeless pile of flesh. He again examined my body; a woman, 23 years of age, pale skin, a turquoise dress teasingly mid-thigh, black hair, and empty blue eyes that were in contrast with the blood. My mouth was wide opened and lined with crimson lipstick I had bought the day before. The man lifted my corpse's right hand and kissed it, bidding me adieu. He lazily dropped it back in to the pool of red liquid emanating from my body. He left the parlor room of the apartment through the door to the left of the fire place which I knew to be the kitchen. I watched all this through peripheral vision of course, for my eyes were transfixed to the ceiling.

          I stared at that white surface for 10 minutes, observing every crack in the paint and every small insect that traversed the open plain until my lovely killer returned with an assortment of cleaning supplies and one of my extra sheets from the linen closet. I heard the sound of the man flapping the sheet open. He put it next to my icy body and placed both of his warm living hands on my cold dead skin. The meeting of the two radically different temperatures produced a burning sensation I would imagine. The murderer carelessly rolled me on to the baby blue sheet, which was now stained with my blood. As he rolled me, my nose dug into the carpet and my hair fell into my face as my extremities got tangled within one another until I was stationary on the sheet. At this point my arms were at my side, my legs were crossed and bent, and half of my face was against the sheet. My right eye had the fortune to be in a vantage point capable of seeing the puddle in which I had previously laid.

                The side of my face pressed hard into the carpet. My eye stared at him with hate. Hate. Is that even the word? If I was alive at this very moment I would make it a point to create a new word. The highest level of anger. Above hate. A word filled with such unnatural and distasteful feeling of rage that is would be placed right next to F**K, or S**T. Even C**T.

                I watched with this word.

                The man got down on all fours and implemented his, or rather my supplies, from the kitchen and started to meticulously eradicate the red blob on my white carpet. He hummed as he cleaned. As he covered. As I was slowly being forgotten. He hummed. I can’t quit put my finger on the tune, but it doesn’t matter. He hummed some up beat song as I lay dead, feet away from him. The man was beginning to bleach the mess when a furious knock on the door echoed through out my apartment. My murderer was a clever man; like a reflex he picked me and took my body into the kitchen where he dropped me on the floor. I landed in such a way on the hard tiled floor that my neck had snapped.

                He opened the door and inquired if he could help the person who had so vigorously pounded away at my door. I instantly recognized the voice of the knocker to belong to be my land lord. He was looking for my rent and he presented the question of who this man was that was intruding in my apartment. Lies! He spoke sweet lies, masterfully crafted by dexterous tongue. Clever sonofabitch. I wish I could hear his bull s**t. I would love to laugh at it. I didn’t though. Too far. I did hear him say that he would tell him he stopped by and that I should get back to him about my rent.

                After that the door had closed. What!? How? How on earth… he should have been caught there, right there but no. He shouted into the kitchen, asking me if I heard that, as if I was still alive to get back to my land lord; he thought it funny. My broken body and I were lying on the tile for along time; I could not tell exactly how long for my sense of duration was warped by my present state. Minutes melted into hours, seconds woven into days, it made no sense. That entire period consisted of the sound of brushing and ended with a sigh. After he put my cleaning tools away, he scooped up my body and carried me into the bathroom where he dropped me into the tub and out of the sheet. I tumbled out of the cloth and saw a blur of the pastel colors of my bathroom as I landed face first and broke my nose on my fiber glass tub. He removed my clothes and took the sheet; the textile testaments to his deed.

                He was not going to get away with this! This was just not how the world worked. Bad guys get caught. I was an innocent victim and he will get punished. Harshly. It better be harshly. He will pay.

                I do not know what he did with the cloth for my site was directed towards the shinny interior of my tub. I heard his foot steps returning to the bath room, when another interruption came from the door came about. A voice shouted that she knew I was in there and that I should come out; little did she know that I was incapable of doing so. I heard his foot steps trail to the door. He opened it and I heard my sister’s voice. I felt like screaming “I’m here! He killed me!” Sadly enough I was completely unable of doing so yet I still made my futile attempts thinking my lifeless body would produce some noise. It didn’t. I had the tragic thought that he might kill her too if she continued to interrupt his work.

                She came into the apartment. Her and her husband. Salvation. This b*****d would be caught. I wonder what happened. I could not see of course. Did they sit? Stand? Walk around? I don’t know. I heard talking though. Could they not tell in the man’s voice that he was a killer? There had to be something there. Something that separates those who are heartless murderers to those who are normal people. Is voice had to have something, some devilish tone, some evil essence. He was a killer! How could they not tell!? Am I wrong? Is there no way to tell a heartless, vicious, monstrous killer from everyone else?

                They talked for a while. He lied! He continues to lie! LIAR LIAR KILLER KILLER! MONSTER! No! Why can’t my throat make a sound! WORTHLESS! A worthless dead body. Rotting. Slowly being forgotten. Please, someone, anyone, remember me. Remember the dead girl in the bath tub. Know that she’s there!

                Foot steps. Growing louder. Coming. Coming towards me! Into the bathroom. HERE! I AM RIGHT HERE! TOM! It was my brother-in-law. I could tell those heavy foot steps. A shower curtain separated me from him.

                I could not do it. My body could not be forced to make a noise. I AM DEAD! DEAD! KILLED! MURDERED! SLAUGHTERED! HERE! RIGHT HERE! REMEMBER ME! PLEASE! He was pissing. Pissing? NO! He could not be pissing when there was little old me ROTTING in a bath tub.

                A thin sheet of plastic was between us; the living and the dead. All he had to do was move that plastic and the man would get what he deserved.

                A flush. The sink turned on. NO! COME BACK! A pause. Did he hear me? Was this pause between washing his hands and walking out the door spent looking at the shower curtain, knowing what lay behind it. I hope so.

                No. He left.

                Please! No PLEASE COME BACK! REMEMBER ME!

                I wish I could cry. I do. Do not take it for granted. Cherish every tear you shed for I can not shed any. I wish I could have cried there. They left me! Left me there to rot, to be forgotten.

                The man returned to the bath tub in which my body festered. Upon his arrival, I felt my body being taken apart; the man dissected me into manageable pieces. The tub became filled with my blood and I saw it running across its white surface. He completed the task with the precession and dexterity of a surgeon. He placed my disembodied self into bags of unknown origin and I was soon enveloped in their darkness. I heard the water run, probably to wash my blood down the drain. Down the drain to be forgotten.

                I do not know how he did it, but he did. My butcher transported me from my apartment to an automobile of some kind. I was still surrounded by darkness as he drove away from my building. I bounced up and down with the pot holes in the road. What was going on? THIS ISN’T HOW THE WORLD IS SUPPOSED TO WORK! The car soon came to a stop and I felt myself being lifted out of it. Next thing I knew, I was flying through the air and landed in a wet cold place. Water flooded the bag through the pores in the fabric. Water surrounded every severed part of my body. This is not supposed to happen. He is a bad guy, a villain, a monster. I sank into nothingness. Gone. Forever. I disappeared.

Do not forget me, do not forget the dead girl in the bath tub, do not forget he got away with it.

Author's Note

Its unedited

Reviews

[Starting Over]

It was awesome! i loved i couldnt stop reading it when i started! Great job!