She lies in a lake of her own blood, buried an eighth of an inch deep so that her words are only vibrations in the air and her pleas only ripples in the stagnant water. She sees blood in her eyes as she finger paints with her clenched fists at her sides. The flow of the current gushes from her chest and trickles down her dress. She yearns to unsee the end arriving.
In her final moments, she doesn’t think about the people she loves or the memories she’s had. One thought swirls through her mind like her fingers through her own blood: I’m going to die.
The thought is loud at first, but it follows the beat of her slowing heart until the…
Her mind rushes of thoughts fueled with panic. Her hand stains red as she tries to dam the life seeping out of her veins. But then the reaper slices another wound with his bullet.
She still has a will, an instinctual need to keep the blood inside her frantic heart. With weakness in her bones, she holds her hand to the second current and when the third comes she runs out of hands. The reaper leaves her there to die, for he knows the damage is too great for her to save herself.
Seconds pass and she lets the waters run free.
And they run for their lives, for the end of her’s.
The words drip down her trembling lips like the beginning of a waterfall, slowly and pleading for life.
You Don’t Need To Do This
She feels more alive than she ever has before as she looks down from this place of clarity. This ghost is transparent to her, and her eyes fill with tears for him, for what he is about to do.
Her heart rattles in her chest just as his hand shakes around the gun. She knows deeply in her soul that the words she utters are useless, but she can’t keep them inside of her. They rush from her, shoving their way up her closing throat; they fill the eerie silence, clogging her ears so that everything around her is muted.
I Promise I Can Help You
And for a moment she believes he has reached his peak. For a heavenly second, she has faith in the pure humanity she has convinced herself she sees in his glassy gaze. She smiles, then, utterly joyous in the sliver of life she sees for herself, the mistaken hope.
She smiles, still, as her own words drown out the sound of the bullet sinking into her chest.
He is so familiar it hurts her eyes.
The point of the gun is so alien it splinters her soul.
The day is still beautiful, despite the rain. The yawn is light upon her dry lips, and she grins at the sound of droplets pattering against the window panes. The slippers against her feet are soft, and she feels as if she walks on pillows of clouds.
Without the rainfall, the house is silent. She rubs her exposed shoulder as she ambles down the staircase, her movements graceful like the sound of a stream.
The glass is cold, and her fingertips leave steamy marks when she pulls away. Water droplets follow the fate of gravity down the window, enchanting her tranquil mind.
She is so entranced by the rain, by the sheer beauty of the gray matter outside, that she doesn’t notice him before it’s too late.