I always knew she would never love me.
She would never understand the passion I felt for her, she would never care about the horrible love that I dedicated to her. She was my Goddess, my everything. She rejected me like I was not even worth the excuses she made up for her absence. It was time I stepped out of the dank dark alleyways and into the limelight for tonight.
I knew she would not love me – ever – and deranged as I was, I resorted to preventing anyone else from ever having her – oh the horrors of jealousy! I thought what I’d do was, I’d trick her into this forest right by school, and we’d walk there for a little while, whilst I’d gather enough courage for my plan to take off. I prepared myself with a screwdriver. Maybe you think they are kind of lame and whatnot, but I’ve always found them to be one of the most useful murder-tools you can acquire without trouble with gun laws and that sort of suspicious behaviour.
It was a grey Tuesday that I tricked her to follow me to the forest. We discussed various boorish things on the way there, and I was in such high spirits – but at the same time that my love for her only grew larger, my desire to end her life grew as well – for I knew all to well that this delicious piece of supple flesh would never belong to me, not even in the happiest of my dreams. In the forest there was this huge stone that was something of a landmark around here. I had been there many times before so I was rather well acquainted with the place, knew my way around, knew which place would be best for me to… silence her… Preserve her, the way a scientist preserves a specimen by putting it in a glass tube filled to the brim with formaldehyde.
You might stop and reflect upon the fact that using a screwdriver to kill someone would undoubtedly be a messy way. But my thoughts were not logical at the time – I felt detached from myself and again and again there was that one thought repeated in my head: Kill her, keep her safe and pure, kill her, keep her safe and pure… You might call me insane; I’m not one to disagree on that point. Psychologists and psychiatrists and therapists would undoubtedly shout “PSYCHO!” in unison would I reveal my true self to them.
As we got to the stone, which is a random boulder that lies in the densest part of the huge forest that stretches for miles in every direction, crisscrossed by various paths and a few smallish streams, my hands kept clutching around the screwdriver in my pocket, sweaty… I suppose I’ve always been somewhat a sensitive kid, you know, nervous, shy, that sort of thing. She was so pretty where she strolled just a little bit ahead of me down this path I many times before had walked. Her purple shoulder-length hair waving in the wind like the waves of the ocean, rhythmically, hypnotically; her innocent body—narrow legs and arms—her colourful garments—it was perfect.
And that was when I lost my self-control and jumped her.
I did not want to hurt her. My plan was not to hurt but to preserve—like the respectable scientists of history I had to preserve the specimen so that no one else would taint it. Do not think I am some rapist or wife-beater kind of guy, that’s not who I am. I do not deny that indisputably my mind certainly works in mysterious ways and that I am quite possibly a dangerous character—but I do not often behave violently. You know what I mean? This was for a good cause; or so I believed at least, then. I know now that it was not a mistake to do so. As I jumped over her and she started falling, she gave off a bizarre squeak of surprise. I think she asked me what the hell I was doing, I don’t remember much, I wasn’t listening; my senses instead focused on what beautiful panorama that was soon to be displayed before my very eyes.
I pulled out the screwdriver. I was now sitting atop her struggling body, her trying to force me off. I don’t know quite what she thought right then, but I suppose she was scared, maybe she thought I was just some low-life rapist out for a quick shag. How wrong she was then! My mission had much more noble concerns! Her screams did not deter me the least, I wasn’t listening. The screwdriver shimmered in my hand as a few faint rays from the sun penetrated the grey clouds and was reflected by my sweat on the aluminium…
Where do I stab it in for the best results? It suddenly hit me. I had not planned how to achieve the most damage in the shortest amount of time. But there was no longer any time for regrets; I would have to try my way with her. Eyes, I thought, I had heard eyes were sensitive and if you’d shove something in there, and it was bound to damage the brain critically. But I still had something human left inside me, even at that moment when I let my primal instincts take control, and decided not to abuse her eyes. They were so pretty, I thought, I’d hate to ruin something so beautiful; those deep green eyes, like staring at the stars on a clear night.
I closed my eyes and jabbed it in. I think I heard a scream then – I’m none to sure. As I opened my eyes again, I saw that the screwdriver had penetrated her chin. She tried to spit the blood that was filling her mouth out, but it all landed in her face. I tried to brush it off with my hand, but the result was none too good. I think I screamed then. I don’t remember very well. I wasn’t looking to cause her pain… I really loved her – and still do. I think I cried as well. At the same time that I was chocked, scared, and crying in shame of what I had done to my precious love, I couldn’t help but feel aroused.
The second jab of the screwdriver went into her neck. Some blood squirted out of the hole left after I pulled it out, but it seemed to have caused little or no damage. Another shot. I think I closed my eyes again. My memory doesn’t serve me well about this part of the story; it’s hidden in a cloud of opalescent haze. The third jab struck her head just above the right ear, but it didn’t have quite enough force to penetrate the bone. I think I saw something white – white like chocked quartz – before the geyser of blood erupted from the wound.
The fourth hit struck roughly in the same spot, and it went all the way through. Her mouth shut, a few bubbles of blood slipping out as she did, and her accusing stare intensified for a few seconds. I looked down upon her and forced the screwdriver further into her head… bent over her, I gave her a kiss and I said that I loved her and that I would never forget her. This was orgasmic. My hands released the screwdriver, which was now a good way into her head, and I saw how her eyes lost colour and life. It was no sudden change, just a slow transition. I saw tears coming out of her eyes. She winked one last time, then, her eyes turned empty.
It was then I knew that she was dead. I felt it in the air, a change of scene – something was definitely missing. Thinking back upon what I did, I wish things could have been different. Human relationships, however, are rarely very long lasting. People can’t sort their problems out without inane fights it seems. They just cannot sit down and talk things over and give up their own personal desires and aspirations for the sake of keeping love alive. Love means nothing in human society.
Love means something to me. Call me old-fashioned and pathetic, but I killed her out of love. I did not think about the consequences that might follow if it some day becomes known amongst people of the human world that I had indeed ended her life – and to them it would not matter what my motives were. “Jealousy”, they’d say, “immaturely developed emotions…”
What I did was thankfully merely the catalyst for the greatest thing ever to have happened. She came to me that night. I left her body in the woods; I covered her comfortably with some pine branches, closed her eyes and kissed her nose. I love her, and true love never dies.
Later that night, as I sat down at home and wrote in the light of the full moon, I saw her walk by outside. Her face was covered in a red mask of dried blood, and she peeked up towards the window where I sat and removed it. She was prettier than at any time in life; now with a pair of pretty horns. Not really like devils horns, more like those of a goat, twisted backwards in a spiral, kind of. You know what I mean. It was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I put my hands against the glass as if I’d be able to touch her smooth skin from that far away. She smiled and then she walked away, and I cried.
Writing in the limited light that escapes the moon and into my room here at the Asylum for the Heartbroken, the Black Forest Institute for the Criminally Insane, I cry every night and think of the day when she will drink my blood in hell. True love, it really never dies.
That was epic ! I almost came.
Aw.
That's sweet. Kind of gross that people jack off to it, though.
But still, I liked it. =)
beautiful
