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I'm Gonna Get Beat Up For Writing This StoryCategory: Stories
Wednesday, 16 November 2011
05:32:51 PM (GMT)
I have become a stranger to myself. The man I was before never would have done such
a thing. 
She and I were always happy with each other. Between us existed a pure case of love,
and nothing else. 
But my mind was set. And the choice had been made. This was a night of goodbyes. It
was the last time I would share with her. And it was the last night I would live. My
old self had sworn to never succumb to such insanity. I am deeply sickened that I
have to commit such an atrocious sin, but I must. It's the only way that I can keep

I had never been so enchanted by a woman. From the day we met, I was struck with a
desire to know her. I would have to be a fool to not see that she was something
special. I had fallen so completely for her, without hesitation or reserve. I
proposed, and we were married in a small church that had undoubtedly seen many other
lovestruck couples pass through its doors. We settled into the humble--although
beautiful--house I had inherited when my mother died of influenza about five years
earlier. She seemed perfectly content for the first year of our marriage, always
smiling and never making me ask twice for a kiss. But without warning, one day she
started getting depressed. She would sit, quiet and still, (almost catatonic) in the
study. Sometimes she would write her beautiful poetry. I would examine it after she
left each day to go to the market. The lines of ink on the thin paper whispered
secret desires and confessions that grew darker and darker with each poem. She spoke
of pestilences and suffering. Death was always included. 

And then there was the mirror. She had purchased it one afternoon from a traveling
merchant while she was away on her daily shopping excursion. She presented it to me
with a pride and excitement I did not understand, offering me her first real smile in
what seemed like years. I will admit, only to myself, that the mirror was indeed a
gorgeous chattel. It was unique in design, and made some ungraspable, long forgotten
memory stir within me. 
However, it soon began to frighten me. Her behavior shifted quite abruptly, and
instead of writing, she would simply sit on the floor, staring hollowly into the
mirror. I could never gain her attention; I couldn't even feel her presence in the
room anymore. She never spoke to me, and seldom did she eat. She became pale and
thin. The color seemed to disappear from her face; she wasn't white, no, but
colorless. She appeared to be so fragile that for a long time I dared not touch her
for fear my hand would pass through her like a ghost. Eventually I forced myself to
move her, taking her to the bedroom, but she just laid there, never moving, never
talking. Even as I sat beside her, holding her hand, I felt alone in the room. She
simply was not there. It was then that I decided I had to end what was left of her

It was about midnight, and my mind was twirling with ideas of how I should execute my
plan. Or rather, what my plan even was. I hadn't yet thought of how, only of what. I
caught myself grinning as I paced the old floors of our home, the soft sounds of her
mumbling in her sleep reaching me from the bedroom. I glanced over to the corner of
the kitchen, where a glare from the lamp burning on the counter caught my eye. A
smooth silver tool lay next to it. Had I left it out subconsciously? "Ah, a knife…"
I whispered, walking towards it. Such an unoriginal method. But, this was
to be efficient, not artistic. And anyway, I was ready. 

Still pacing, I snatched the knife from the counter. I strode purposefully toward the
bedroom, and glanced in at her where she lie. Her face was a white in the moonlight,
her lips a deep, fleshy violet. I slid onto the bed beside her, my eyes crawling over
her body. She looked empty, an insect's shell that was abandoned after it was shed.
She did indeed appear to me dead already, but I know she was not, for her chest moved
slowly. Gripping the knife firmly, I placed my hand down onto her chest, pressing
down against her flesh. It felt more like meat than any living thing. Disgusted, I
pushed harder and slid the knife across her throat. Blood spilled from her neck,
flowing down onto the sheets and soaking her pale blue nightgown. The creases in the
pattern of the fabric filled like tiny crimson rivers. And all I could do was watch
with a sick grin on my face, feeling something heavy and aching lift from my

Throughout this, she had opened her eyes only once, not looking at me, just staring
straight ahead, her lips parting to release a gasp of surprise or fear or pain. Now
her eyelids fluttered, like pale grey moth wings. 

It was then the question arose of how to dispose of her body. None of our friends and
family had checked up on us for some time, since I had adamantly discouraged their
visits to try to conceal her deteriorating condition. I decided I could simply tell
them she went away on a trip and never returned. Yes! In doing so, I could make
myself out to be the victim, the one who looked and looked for his dear, lovely
bride! I would gain sympathy and no one would know any better. I forced any
whispering of my conscience back into the darkness. I didn't care if it was selfish.
It would work, it had to. I just had to get rid of the body. 


Somehow, you need to tie the mirror back into this. I think it should be the last
He needs to put her somewhere original, to compensate for knife cliche. 
I think he should look into the mirror later and see something horrifying, but it
shouldn't say exactly what, it should just end with him loosing his mind completely
after looking into it. 
He could put her underwater. What about...


Fortunately, there was a good sized pond on our slice of property, both wide enough
and deep enough to accommodate my desired purpose. Lifting her body over my
feeling her muscles twitch as she faded into death, I carried her outside. Dropping
her corpse on the dew-damp grass, I found some rope and bricks, rocks, and a small
anchor. Attaching what I could to the limp body, I painstakingly hoisted her into
small rowboat. The weight made for some torturous rowing, but once I reached the
middle of the pond, I was able to push her body and its attached weights into the
dark waters.
Last edited: 16 November 2011

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