Sometimes, I look out the window beside our fireplace. Through the grim and haze I can see the woods passing into death of winter. The brown and grey forest now the bleeding mix of all the colors. Chilling breezes drifted branches into sway like a cradle. Piles of ice crusted leaves layeder the earth, further burying what's below.
I look down at the tea in my mug, the herb bag still draped over the edge. The inviting book that I placed aside uninterested in its tale, layed benethe. My thoughts had become to distant without my lover to keep me at bay. I have become afraid that my little raft has drifted to many miles from reason, and that I will likely never to stand on the shore again.
Still, I attempt to re open the frail book, but my eyes would slowly stray from the words to the trees yet again. I would shake my head wildly as if to knock out the insane notion the urged me to peer yonder, but ever so unknowingly I'd again catch my fixation on the distance woods. Frustrated, I slammed the book shut. She was out their, buried benethe those leaves, she must be. Could even insanity deter someone to be so intently focused on a sense of possibility. No, she was out there telling me through the silence, that she did not lay in peace.
Abruptly standing up, I slosh my tea over the minuscule fire. The sizzle called its death and, I rush towards the closet for my mackinaw. Unaware of it being settle below where my rear sat, I felt the time unnecessarily dwindle. In the haze of anxiety, I slip the rifle on the wall around my shoulder as security and barge out into the woods.
Straight from the window I walk towards the point of my continuous gaze. Wind burned my ears bright pink and snuck between the crevices of my sweater, but my intent mind disregarded it all.
Stepping into the edge of the forest the atmosphere tenses; I was crossing the old caution tapes that had fallen. It was as if it was a border between the sane and my insanity. Yet, with these steps my body aches with the ail nostalgia of the lights weaving through the trees. The black vests and rabid dogs, those protecters who I see my newest enemies. The failures.
The crunch of leaves, their last dying breath, was lacking, the sun was thawing. The dripping twigs patted occasionally on my cheek. Partially bewildered from the sudden warmth, I quicken my pace. The volume of leaves slowly lessened on the floor. No matter my maze, it grew greener. Trying to run from the cheery stain, I would abruptly swivel my compass away. Yet it followed.
Tears weld my eyes, unable to escape the swift slur to summer. Feeling the anxiety build into a bubble in my throat, crash knee and knee on the ground.
Her hair red and fiery like the sun. Eyes with sharp wit and bold appearance. Laugh- as crackly as the popping sparks of a inferno. Smile- that of newborn's bewilderment. The empty whole these memory become. The growing Tartarus they evolve to as time ticks. Now the soiled milk of love.
I hate the... The. ... Crap! Is there a word to love anymore. What matter is not apart of the infinity of anguish, hate, pain when a emotions are poisoned? There is none, there isn't any. No human has seeked to hand me a palm, no hope has poked through my black paper, no time to heal the gaping wound.
I felt to weak to even free the inundation of emotions that I am a victim too. Thus I fall over to my back where I could see they false light. Only hope is light.
"Hey! Are you......"
There was oblivion between those words and my eyes creaking open . I awoke in a new setting. The area was not my own. "He's awake!" Spoke a man sitting in a chair opposing the opened sofa I layed upon. I smack my lips and sit up. I glance at the black figure walking towards me. "Why the hell were you outside in the cold!? It's end of hunting season."
I knew within seconds I found him. The black devil of the pink cheeked man whose smile would fool lucifer himself. But not I, I saw the iceles hanging from his heart. I reach my hand up, but slowly place it back nonchalantly, waiting for prefect second.
"Well?"
"I know, I just needed a walk." I sigh, acting casual.
"In 34 degree weather? I find that hard to believe."
"I do too."
"Really, then why'd you do it?'
"I'm not sane."
The mans face looks deterred. As if bothered by my most resent statement. But it quickly sifts back to the coy glow.
"Well I am Theodore, your neighbor, I've seen you..." He stumbles," and heard your tragic story.."
"What story!?" I snap
"Your wife's horrific death..." He trailed. Shifting further back in his seat, away from me. His smile faded again and didn't return.
"Right..."
"Saw you in the forest looking for Foster, my greyhound. Thought you were hunting with your gun, now coming to think of it though, you must have been out still looking for your wife."
I don't respond.
"Well I guess it's not my business to know. But I have your rifle here." He tosses it onto the blanket in my lap.i nod in appreciation. "You stay for dinner or I can drive you back to your place its up to you. My wife however is a mean cook."
Smiling maliciously, I smile and say, "I'd love to stay."
At dinner, I feasted upon a hot casserole and veggies. And afterwords I offered to help with the dishes. His wife spoke little as she pushed the food around her plate. The man though, joked with a booming laugh that echoed to the gods.
I kept my gun nearby me, but it slowly came to mind that I rather it be silent. With an idea in mind, I tempt the lovers to sit on their sofa as I washed the plates. Appreciative of the help, they gladly comfort themselves in the living room.
Standing forth the old sink with white paint chipping off, I grab the knife used to cut the meat. The soapy water was still dripping off of it as I turned around to cross the pair.
I can't remember the next 5 minutes. They're not gone, blurry or black, they just happened without a sensory. It was reality.
But now I stood before the pink tinted sink and rose red water. Now the knife was being placed between a rag off bleach.
I murdered the devil for you lord.
I saw the black in him when you did not.
But even in your fault to keep his deranged soul and not my innocent love, I shall bury them, as I never got to bury her.
Dragging the corpses through the woods draped in a wagon was a adrenaline victory march. The gun I had wedge between the two skin and bone bodies was safely placed for emergency. I was proud over how silent the death was. Means I might hide it more easily. The bleach, shovel and leftovers was also crammed underneath the rifle. Now my trophies.
Far back into the woods, I stuck the shovel in place. Ever so slowly getting them as close to hell as I could. The night grew over me as I heaved over each shovel with sweat beads filling the hole.
"Clinnck!"
The shovel hit a large rock. Cussing I consider expanding the hole, but felt too exhausted.
Ready to pull the descended to my hole, I peer back down to where my shovel, hit. Morbid curiosity tempted me to lean over and brush the dark cloak of dirt off the chunk.
It was nothing close to a piece of earth, it was her. The lids of her eyes recalling me of those heinous moments.
Partially frozen; I Could still see the smile cresses on her face and red ting in her hair. I gleam at her beauty and cover it as I had done before under my burning tears.
I pull the bodies from the floor to my hole and poor the bleach ontop of them and my wife. Dumping the dirt on top of them and the shovel. I cover the small mound with leaves. I leave, feeling the guilt of all their demises.
Guilt, had brought me back. Guilt was my denial. Guilt was my amnesia. Guilt was the murderer. Guilt was my insanity.
Insanity, are not just those who are crazied and obsessed, they are the victims of their own mistakes, their guilt.
