Plunging has been used so many times but maybe that's because that's really the best way to describe it. The knife plunging into the soft fleshy part of his abdomen. The blood pooling around the blade and filling the gap that I forced in him, after I pull the blade out terrified by what I've done.
The tip of the knife points to the sky and the blood drips down the blade finding my fingers tightly fastened around the handle. The warmth of the blood startles me and I let the knife fall. I flinch at the sound of the knife clattering on the ground.
His eyes, alert, alive, stare at me devouring ever ounce of me. Guilt consumes me the same way his eyes do. I wonder, for a moment, if this is how he felt as he attacked me over and over again.
His hands once clamping around his wound, twitch; they don't twitch with the cold shivers of death. They twitch with action. My numbed body can hardly digest his movements until I feel his hands clamped around my neck. I dropped the knife, that's probably what he was waiting for, he was ready to attack again.
My nails claw at his hand, struggling to force him off of me. If he is going to choke the life out of me then he is going to have to stare into my eyes as I die. But the gleam of cruelty in his eye suggests that he doesn't care. If guilt of killing me isn't going to stop him then I have to.
Darkness thickens along the edges of my vision and I can feel my muscles weakening as they gasp for air, energy, anything that will sustain them. My hand plummets at his wound forcing him to let go of me. He struggles to breathe but I don't fall to guilt. I pick up the knife, greeting the stickiness of the blood that stains the handle.
Over and over I plunge the blade into him. Smiling at each scream that bursts out of his mouth. Welcoming the most painful shudders that he contorts. Until everything stops. His eyes frozen in their horrific emptiness, the emptiness that I caused him.
How can I make the decision that stole the thought from a person's eyes, the breath from their lungs. I should be terrified, I am terrified but not because he's dead because I don't feel bad. I don't feel anything. I feel more alive now than I ever was. But who...what does that make me? I know who I am now. I am a monster.
No comments:
Post a Comment