Death is inevitable, but that doesn't mean I can go through grief like this.
Everyone is dead.
Gone.
Never to come back breathing. The ones I saw with colour on their faces, now lie in a casket with pale skin and white cloths draped over their body. I get a final glance at their drained out face in the church, my lace dress sways as I tread towards the wooden box, I am reminded of the night where the sky was lit with red and blue lights. The siren was loud and the people and different officials clamoring everywhere.
As sweat dripped off my forehead, I hid furthur behind the bushes far away, but close enough for me to see the scene unfold infront of me.
I clutched on to the blood red knife as I sighed. Not out of fear but satisfaction.
I dragged my heavy heart and my feet back to the home we shared and all I can see is him laying down over a pool of his own blood in the living room.
The room where we used to make love so intimate it was sacred.
The vision stayed and I stood there unfazed.
I now felt nothing. I felt no grief. No happiness. I only felt like a blank piece of paper not worthy enough to even be written on.
I killed him.
I didn't kill him like how I did all these years in my imagination.
I actually killed him.
I killed him without remorse, without thinking twice.
I sat there on the floor, thinking... where it all went wrong.
I killed the love of my life and for what?
