Crimson Petals and Purple Hearts

Devil be with you

As I turn off Beethoven- Moonlight sonata I look at the aftermath of my excursion. He lay on the marble floor with the bright crimson color pooling behind him in attempts to stain the floor. I made a cup of tea, Earl Grey. Sipping tenderly, I go over how this came to be.

"Please," he begged, "you don't have to do this!"
"But I assure you," my tone as cold as the blood coursing through my veins, "I have no other choice."

After I finish my tea, I wash my mug. Blood trickles down the drain off of my dainty hands. No one could have pegged me as a murderous psychopath. But when people hurt the ones I love, there is just one way to show how I feel.

The knife made a slick sound against his skin as I cut the side of his unshaven face. He inhaled sharply as he waited for it to end.
Why did he chose not to run? He openly accepted his demise.

"I have nothing left, I guess. Do whatever." He didn't tell me his name.

But then again, I didn't need to know. He had been the reason my baby sister had been so unhappy. She probably wouldn't miss him. Her children would be happier without him. The alcoholism among other habits. His joy was my sister's despair. She had came to me for advice, but gave me the fuel that lead to flipping the switch from reluctant little girl to moonstruck cut throat.

She had left him once and went back. He cared when she was gone. But when she had came back, nothing had changed. He accused her of cheating. He told her constantly that she didn't care about anything. She worked every day, so hard at trying to keep a clean house. While she didn't have a job, it wasn't bad. But she got a job and was told she was lazy.

"If you cared about anything, this house would be clean."
"We don't have enough money to do that. But you don't care, so I don't know why I'm telling you."

Meeting people in a bar is bad news. It could have been worse. He could have been physically abusive.

But, yet, he is rheumatic and chilled to the bone in my floor.

Killing him was elementary. As easy as breathing. He didn't put up a fight once he knew he would make her life better. Why people choose to die in order for other people to live... I don't understand it.

Kneeling down before me I cut his throat. A tear graced his cheek as the blood streaked down his neck. I almost feel sorry. He deserves his fate for being so cruel.

"She is swimming in depression and you don't help. You have never helped. You will never hurt her again." I spoke with no compassion.

"I don't know what to say right now. I just want her to be happy." He wept.

"I will give you a chance to let her know that you want her to live her best life." Guilt is what lead me to this.

Writing out his letter, he streaked his face with tears.

Did he really have to do that? Cry while writing a simple letter?

None the less, I suppose I should read it before I hand it to my sister.

The letter goes as follows:

* My love, I am sorry to be leaving you. I have been a horrible person for how I treated you and I have finally admit to myself that you are better off without me. I pray you take care of the children in my absence. They deserve to have a good dad. Please don't let them around anyone you know isn't a good fit. I love you and I'm sorry I wasn't able to do right by you.

A loving goodbye,

Charles*

He could have apologized better. This is unfit for her eyes. I'll just tell her he left and never came back. Because... that's how she always thought would happen.

She always told me she never felt good enough. That she was doing wrong because he made her feel that way. He made her want to hurt him and never did. Maybe if she would have snapped on him, he wouldn't have had to die.

I don't like killing people, but I have to.

He never expected me to be his end. Trying to get my sister whom I haven't seen in years, to do everything. I couldn't have had anymore reason. He is a disgusting low life. No one who belittles women should be shown any mercy.

I grab my things as I began to dismantle his corpse. He has a peaceful expression on the surface. If only he had changed. She is better off.

I spread out the tarp next to him as I don a poncho. I make light of the situation by playing more classical music. I can think properly without having to process what just happened. The music flows through me as I move his body to the tarp. My shed out back is currently equipped with plastic against the walls. I can take them down after I am done and leave little evidence of the crime.

Night is approaching. My time is coming.