"The Tell-Tale Heart"

The Murder

Then that day came when I couldn't take it anymore. Revenge got the best of me. I took a knife, sharpened it, and got ready. John was fast asleep. This was the opportunity. I slumped over him, breathed into his face, took a deep breath, and stabbed him right into his abdomen. His eyes flew open. A rage of terror reflected in them. Unlike the way my mother died, I would let him die slowly and painfully, looking into the eyes of his killer. His murderer. I whispered to him softly, "An eye for an eye." I shoved the knife in again. I hit him over the head with a frying pan. He slowly died, moaning and groaning, whimpering and whining. I cut off his nose and ears. I plucked out his eyes and tongue. I chopped off his limbs, and poured arsenic, ashes, and corn meal over them.

There was a sudden knock at the door. My heart started to pound. My breathing was speeding every second, as if I'm hyperventilating. Wait a second, I am hyperventilating. My mouth feels like sawdust. A single bead of sweat runs down the corner of my left eye. I wipe. I feel no moisture to tell where this came from. I finally collect myself and decided not to answer the door. I walk over to the window and hide myself to be sure no one sees me. I see him. John Lockhart. He's standing outside the door. Impossible. Completely impossible. How could this be? Am I going mad? Am I already mad? Can't be. Maybe a little paranoid,but not mad. I would be shaking or not even bothered by what just happened if I were mad. Of course I'm not mad. Still, the pounding it was consistent with the beat of my heart. I ft a sudden rush through the warm blood in my veins. Then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. The knocking stopped. I heard the horses trot. I waited until I knew they were long gone.

I buried his remains under the floorboards and set the whole house on fire. I was already packed. I was ready.