I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I could choke. I am choking, spitting colorless bile into the cup of stagnant water sitting next to me on the polished end table. The two mix, and I know with a sudden clarity that nothing will ever separate them again.
You
knew. You always knew what was going on in my mind, even when that insight was
the last thing I wanted. No, particularly when it was least desired. But
really, you shouldn’t have interfered. I told you not to, but you’ve never listened to me. Still, I am truly sorry for what has happened between us,
for the brash and truthful words said, words so full of venom they dripped acid on
their way from my mouth to you, your mouth to me, leaking into the carpet and soaking
the house with enough poison to rot the walls from the inside out and leave the
shell of a festering corpse in their wake. I would have liked this to have
ended differently. Indeed, out of anyone in the world, you are the one person
who knew me best. We could have had a future together, could have been happy in our simplicity and ignorance.
No,
I’m lying. I could never have lived that way. Neither could you, I know. I
could read your mind as well. That’s how I knew you would be here today. I knew
you couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t let you do it though, couldn’t let you
interfere. I’m sorry, my beloved, but really, once you learned her secret, you
should have known that you had to die. I just don’t think either of us
realized that I would be the one to kill you.
Everything’s
all right now. It’s already happened. Sometimes, the past truly does override
all, even the future. There’s no undoing it now, and really, I’ve never felt so
at peace. Now that you’re gone, I never have to worry about her again.
Yet,
now I find that I cannot live without you. It’s funny, isn’t it? It should be.
I thought that slicing into the visible, vulnerable, viridian veins of my
wrists would be easier than this, but the knife isn’t as sharp as it could be.
There, it finally goes - the blood. I’ve always felt vaguely sick whenever I
was bleeding from a large wound, but this pain is too sharp, too intense for me
to feel queasy. I suppose I should be thankful for small favors.
I hear laughter. Is that me? I sound like a demented man past his endurance. All that’s missing is a background whirl of machinery, booming thunder and flashing lightning, and-
Oh, wait, that’s not me after all. It’s you.
No comments:
Post a Comment