The perfect ending to a perfect story

Writers block can be a blessing and a curse but also spark the imagination

The voices in my mind won't keep silent. They're whispering to me, dark and deceiving lies with false promises of success once I've committed the deed. I wrap my boney fingers around my neck, interlocking them and I scream, scream and scream into the white screen I've been staring at for the last f*****g three hours. I can't take it, the idea of not being able to ever produce another word on the screen, to not finish my story, to not became a author, it is killing me. I feel like I've been drained of creativity. My imagination, my best friend which I could always rely upon has deserted me, leaving me with nothing but the voices left to help me out of this dark poisonous pit of writers block. It's consumed me and now even my shadow has left me. I'm alone. Everybody and everything has turned on me, my house, my imagination...even my wife. I feel the fire growing inside me, it's going to kill me I know it. I open my eyes and see nothing but white. It's like I'm looking into my mind which is empty and I roar in anger and frustration. This is it. I look around the books piled on my desk and I pick out three of them, big and heavy in my hands and with a terrifying scream I throw them against the wall, letting the book smash and tear. I don't care. They never helped me. They were useless just like everything else in my life. I start to grab and throw all my belongings in my study against the wall, on the floor and out the window. It doesn't matter anymore. Books, Chargers, my cellphone, important papers that once mattered to me, DVDs and CDs; the whole lot I just throw away in every corner of my room breaking and destroying them all. I hear the crashing sounds of the books hitting the walls, the crackling sound of my phone disintegrating into separate pieces and glass being smashed from my DVDs and CDs. It's music to my ears and I laugh as I realize I'm loosing my sanity. I've finally cracked after all this time. I laugh louder till I see I've thrown everything around, broken and torn on the ground around me. My body is all tensed up, I breath hard as my chest sprouts out and in out and in, my eyes ablaze with the fire I've locked away for years. This feeling is great. Why have I suppressed this feeling I wonder to myself. It's f*****g great. Just one small problem. My laptop stares at me with that goddamn white screen reflecting in my eyes. "Get rid of it" I hear a voice shout within the confines of my mind. I look at the laptop and I smirk. An evil- up-to-no-good smirk. Yes! Yes! "Yes!" I scream and just as I'm about to grab the screen and smash it into a thousand pieces I hear the door to my study burst open and my wife's voice scream at me.
"What the f**k is going on? Are you tripping again because you over thinking?!?" She says shouting at me.
I tilt my head at her, I growl like a beast and my eyes lock onto my real target. Forget the f*****g laptop I think. That can wait. I have another problem to get rid of. I sprint over to my wife and wrap my fingers around her throat. Her flesh is soft as I sink my claws into her skin drawing blood and it drips down her throat and over my hand. She gags and tries to squirm her body out of my grip but I have her and I ain't letting go. I slam her against the wall and growl at her. I feel the evil overtake me as I am possessed by it. I don't hold it back and I let it consume me. This is the perfect end to the perfect story. I just need to finish it now.
"What the f***s going on huh?? I'll tell you Taylor" I say in a half growl half roar. It's a voice I do t know but somehow it's mine. "I've broken free and finally have a future that I'm in control of. But you aren't going to be in it. You want the perfect husband....well baby, you got him!!" I shout and I toss her aside letting her hit the ground with a thud that rambles through me. She screams at the pain I inflict on her from her hitting the floor and my claws that sunk into her. She looks up at me, those petrified and terror stricken eyes plead silently for me to stop. To not commit the perfect crime. It's all nothing but a act I tell myself. She's trying to confuse me like she always does. It's not going to work this time. I won't allow it. I kneel down and pick her up by her long brown curls and proceed to slam her face into the floor. I hear glass from the broken pieces of DVDs and CDs crack into her flesh of her face. I don't care. She deserves it. Always f*****g complaining and moaning about me. Now you have something to complain about b***h I tell myself as I repeatedly smash her face into the ground until my arm goes numb.
I leave her face down in the carnage of broken glass and torn paper. She doesn't move. Not a word is spoken out of her mouth. I hear her whimper but I don't take notice. I look at her and smile again. The power is unbelievable and I let control me. I crawl over to Taylor and bend down, tilting my head I whisper into her ear. "Time to finish what I've started" and I lift up her arm and get to my feet. I laugh aloud and start to drag her behind me with her arm. Her cries are softer now as the energy to scream has left drained. She knows I have her. She feels remorse and regret but it wouldn't save her. Nothing can.
I limp over to the draw cabinets that stand in the darkened hallway with my wife being dragged behind me. I drop her arm and she cries as the pain shoots through her. I look at her, cuts are seen all around her face, on her forehead, cheeks, mouth and around her eyes. The glass sticks in her skin like needles and blood scatters down her face like a veins interconnected. It drips on her now dirt ridden torn white blouse. I see the hurt that I've inflicted on her but I don't feel a thing. My feelings have left me dry and soulless. I have no more soul to care. I'm going mad I think but the voice shouts at me again. "You're not mad. She's the insane one. She wants you dead. She hates you. You got to kill her before she kills you" it says. I want to deny the voice suddenly but I can't. It's right. If I let her go all this would have been for nothing. "Got to finish it. Gotta fix the story" I say in a low whisper and I turn. I open the drawer and scrummage through my tools that are stored in my drawer. I search for my screwdriver and I almost think it's not there when I see it in the corner of the drawer and I quickly grab it without a second thought. "You be quiet now" I say to her, "It's all going to be over now" and I turn to see, not my wife but a wooden leg from my desk that came from my study swinging fast into my face.
I feel a sharp cold spike sink into my right side cheek and I fall back against the wall and I grunt in pain. I screech and grab the wooden leg and start pulling the nails out of my skin letting my flesh tear open letting blood flow down my face. I look at the wooden leg with nails that have my blood on it. I look at it and I laugh. "Nice touch" I say but I realize I'm talking to myself. My wife is gone. I look down the staircase and see her disappearing out of my sight step by step. I shout after her and throw the wooden leg aside. I limp, clutching the side of my face in pain and step down the steps. I see her, crying and limping herself at the bottom of the staircase. I can't let her go. If I do everything goes to hell. She's the final ingredient. Gotta finish it. I reach the bottom as I see her reach for the door handle. I race up to her and I grab her hair, it knots and ties in my hands and with a scroll I pull her back. She hits the floor and let's out a piercing cry.
I clutch my hand to find it empty. I don't have my screwdriver. It's upstairs where the wooden leg is lying. I drift my eyes toward Taylor. She's grunting and barely moving. She moans. I walk to my closet and open the door. I see my garden tools lined up in formation for my picking. I scan, there's a sledge hammer, a saw, a spade and lastly a axe. I drift my eyes back and forth until my eyes fall onto the perfect weapon. The axe. It shimmers and glitters in my eyes. I grab and slam my door shut. I turn to my wife still laying in the same spot I left her in. She's bleeding all over, her face with marks that excrete blood, bruises on her arm and neck from my force. It's a lot pain she's gone through. I guess I gotta make it quick I think. I then suddenly find myself overcome by a demon, the demon of writers block. I hear a voice which is not my own. It's southern. It comes out of my mouth.
"I'm so sorry Missus. But right is right and fair is fair. Now I've got to do this" I hear my voice which is so foreign to me say in a southern accent to my wife. "By the way" I say in a southern accent, "This was my idea all along. Not Phillip's but mine. I'm helping him".
I see her turn over and look up at me. It's a final plea but it will serve her no good than the death that awaits her by my cold hand. I walk over to my wife and put the blade of the axe on her throat. She freezes. I don't smile, I don't laugh. My emotions are gone. I look at her with my demonic brown eyes that could almost pass as black. "I know I can do it. I'm sure within time her death will be history to me but fade to the world as a mystery" and then I bring the blade down upon my wife who I once loved.......

'I know I can do it. I'm sure within time her death will be history to me but fade to the world as a mystery' I finish off my book. I look behind me and walk over to my window. It shows my vegetable garden which was been growing slowly but surly over time. I can feel her presence still lingering within my veins. I know she's under there, under the earth's surface of soil, rotting and disappearing day by day. There will soon be nothing left of her. Nothing but a memory. I pick up my plate which has multiple veggies on the one side and a great big piece of steak. I stab my fork into the pumpkin and down the small amount. After a moment of chewing I swallow and look back on the garden.
"The perfect ending to a perfect story" I hear myself say....