Dedicated and inspired by my favorite band, Alesana. Band , storytellers, and most importantly, a part of my life. ^.^
The Accused
The setting takes place in the new era of the 1940’s. In the home of Shawn McCarthy and Alison Deluartis, something tragic occurs. One morning in mid December, Shawn McCarthy, artist and painter, wakes up to find his beloved fiancé dead, in their bed. He doesn’t know who or what did this, and these are his journal entries from the following couple of days after he had found Alison dead. Will he go to drastic measures to be with his loved one once again?
December 14th 1941……. 8:43 am.
I stare into the area that was once Alison. All of which is now gone. It was too fast to see her go. Today, I watched myself wake up and find my Alison dead. Blood that stained the white covers, a horrid sight. Yet I keep in mind that I didn’t do this tragic fate that killed her. There was a shock throughout my body. A small boundary-line between fear and blame, and I was stuck in the middle of it. Her body is still in the covers. I’m watching her writhe and bleed. It kills me, but I don’t want her to leave. All of our connections, all but gone. This was the end-point in her life. I hope and pray to God that this is just a nightmare with a frequency of my multiple fears of losing the things I love most.
I can’t stop! I don’t know whether or not I’m going crazy! Why? Out of everyone, would this happen to me? My morning should have gone like this: we wake up and I work on my sketches, paintings and drawings. She watches, and keeps sewing and making her dolls and clothing. Comparing this planned out morning, is NOTHING to what I had in mind for today. This division between us is like a break-even point for me and her.
……. 3:46 pm ( later that day.)
Believing whether or not this is reality is a hard decision. I know now that this death of Alison was not suicide, nor accidental death, but murder. I still hadn’t called for help, and the time was 2:27 pm, until I had gotten a phone call. The man on other end was taunting me. His last words before he hung up were “She was foolish enough to be killed, and will be too soon.” As he said that my expression went from worry and hope, to pain and regret of picking up the phone.
…….11:42 pm (later that day)
I hadn’t been able to hang up the phone. It was still hanging from the table. I had decided to call in for the night. Goodbye.
December 15th 1941……. 9:27 am.
I wake up today to find there to be snow outside. The color of the snow is what used to be a nice, fresh, lively color is now a blank, dismal, pale white. Just like Alison’s dead corpse. I was only halfway done with my horizon painting, but anything I do only leads me to her. As I paint the distance to the horizon, it only reminds me that Alison and I’s intersecting connection, is now but all an infinite length of distance, just as a horizon would keep going. I’m getting so upset that I get up angrily from my chair and grab the red paint and splash it all over the canvas.
I get up from my chair, and walk back to my bedroom. I see her. Red paint staining and dripping from my hands. I slowly walk to the withering body that was Alison. For some reason, I bend down and say,”Everything will be fine, my dear Alison.” I then kissed her cold face on her cheek. I then had realization hit me. The man. He hadn’t come for me yet. A change of rate went through my heart. I now felt fear, as I knew he would come sooner or later.
……. 9:57 pm (later that day)
To try and take my mind off of her, I walked outside. I then found myself in a bar. I couldn’t help but not move. Everywhere I turned, the volume of people talking their laughter and fun only made things worse! So I walked back home. I just wanted to see her, be with her! My brain cannot function well. I don’t even know my own identity! But oh, as I sat in agonizing pain, I had known the probability for me to survive for me tonight was slim.
Just the thought of him stepping towards my property, was like a step closer to my death. Oh! How I wish he could show himself to me! I just to be with her! My poor Alison. Lost in translation. Will he not come closer? I think I should do this myself instead. Just end the pain I’ve been feeling inside these past two days! I will take this blade and slide it to my throat, to be with her again, is to make me happy. Just mere SECONDS before I see her again!
Everything turns to a charcoal black and I find myself hitting the floor. I know now that I can see my own body on the floor bleeding. I have died. But, something I cannot understand. I do not see the blade in my hand, but in hers. Yes, Alison’s. Realization, it had striked me like a match to a matchbox. SHE had killed ME. How had I not known this? Why? Why would my sweet loving Alison want to kill me? This was no dream, nor nightmare. It had become my reality. She was the murderer in my nightmares, thoughts, and imagination and sketches. I will never know why my Alison had killed me. This, was the end.
