In a twisted game of cat and mouse, a young woman becomes dangerously entangled with a masked serial killer she has been obsessively stalking, leading to a bizarre and clandestine relationship that blurs the line between prey and predator.
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THE CEMETERY IS SHROUDED in a dense fog, filtering the afternoon sunlight. Such image turns the atmosphere surrounding me to be more somber.
I decide to wander here after having tea with Tracy, holding red roses in one hand, and a red box in the other.
Despite the gloomy surroundings, there is a strange beauty in the way the moss clings to the weathered stones and the ivy twisted around the wrought iron gates. It's a haunting reminder of the passage of time and the inevitability of death, a sight that both fascinated and terrified me.
Harlow Morgan's headstone is nearby a gray statue of a weeping angel carrying a basin. Last time I visited, the angel was stained with moss. I had to clean it up by myself so it would look presentable next to Harlow's grave. It's the least thing I can do for him after... after...
I shake my head. It's too late now to feel guilty.
It won't bring him back...
I sit on the well-trimmed grass by his grave. "I'm back, my love." I murmur into the cold air in which only silence responds.
"They ran out of tulips, so you'll have to settle for some good old red roses for now." Then I place the bouquet of crimson flower buds next to the white candles I lit up.
"You know, since you left me, I haven't functioned well as of late. I quit my old job because I was no longer motivated, and I found it hard to get up from bed since I could no longer see you whenever I go out. You know, you're my favorite hobby. You reminded me that life can be sweet. But now you're six feet underground and rotting, I can't taste the sweetness anymore." My hand traces the letters of his name engraved on his headstone. "I have to let you go, or I too will rot."
I open the red box containing my keepsakes of my adoration for him, and one by one, I burn them with the lit up candles.
Smoke rises up and amalgamates with the thick fog floating around the place - a haunting dance of gray and white.
I stand up, then kiss his headstone. "Goodbye, Harlow Morgan."
🎀
Night falls quickly when I have a lot of chores to do.
I finally moved to Harlow's old apartment, and I have been busy reconstructing the place with my own style and design.
I no longer see the appeal to make it exactly look like Harlow's, since he's no longer with me and the nostalgia to me now has turned into a soiled milk, leaving a bad taste in my mouth.
Speaking of milk, I have to buy a new one.
Sighing, I plop down to my bed then browse through my phone. News reports go crazy in the internet since the authorities finally gave an official statement that there's indeed a serial killer on the loose. It goes viral in every media, being the main subject of many conversations and arguments for the whole week.
