hurtling down the tenebrous winding staircase, i couldnt get my head around Ashs callous lack of remorse for what he had done. i had been cajoled into attending a clandestine assembly of authors and now im practically throwing myself down the stone stairs desperatley thinking of ways to elude my pursuer and husband also known as ash. slipping on the scarlet liquid which was pouring from the hall, i felt a sense of releif as my body plummets down the stairs i am freed from the fear, the confusion, the heartbreak, the agony which my life had become
Fast past, lightening blast. Stolen sold, lost gold. Darkness hides within the light, stories told fill the night. Danger, danger. Run from danger. Horror, horror, dwells. Singing, sung. Begin, begun. In the night, hide the light! Hide the light! Filled with fright, filled with fright. Fight, Fight! With all your might! Fight to stay the light! Don't fall prey to endless night, seek the dawn before the light.
So I dreamed a dream. It was a boy, no a man. He was perfect. He wooed me in my sleep and he won my heart. He was a beautiful creature. I'll never forget the person of my dreams. He met me at a place dear to my heart. He found me again at a place dearer to my soul. He touched those who are close to me. He won them over first and then he won me. His heart was soft and sweet. His love was genuine and true. Oh, how I wish I had not woken up. I wish he was real. But alas, some dreams are not true or meant to be. How can one love a fictional character so much? I created him subconsciously and now I can't let him go. This is a problem. I wish I could dream of him every night. If I can't have him for real, at least I can see him in my sleep. How sad though. I miss him.
I opened my eyes and remembered. You were lying next to me, immobile, not breathing. Your body was still and cold, your eyes were open and lifeless. The only witness of what had happened was all over me: your blood. I told you I wasn't right, in the head. I told you one day I was gonna snap some wiring in my brain and all the perversions living in it would come out, free. Free for the very first time in my life, to do and undo everything they wished. You always said I was okay, I was sane, I was just a bit odd. Now you are death. Murdered by my own hands. And the worst of all? I remember enjoying it, I remember the ecstasy of taking a life, of sinking that knife so deep sometimes and so shallow at times. I remember, and it makes me smile.
He said he needed it to look more real. I guess I didn't realise how real he meant. I made so many suggestions. More pumpkins. More skeletons. More actors jumping out to scare the guests. But he didn't seem satisfied with that. I didn't realise, I just didn't realise what he had in mind. He wanted guests to be scared out of their wits, not realising the true horror of what they were actually seeing. He said they did it all the time in the movies. Americans do it all the time, he said. People see something scary and it's only later that they realise what they saw was real. How real? I asked. How real could we possibly make it? I feared he wanted to use the animals on the farm and I was prepared to report him. I went right to the phone, not realising he was near. Now I'm scaring them. The guests. They scream when they see me and then laugh at their "foolishness". It's not real, they'd tell themselves, just make-up. They saw my eyes moving. They saw my hands shaking. They saw the blood trickling down my head from the supposedly fake nails in the cross. I was a crucifixion. A laugh at our Lord, apparently. But I was in agony. Slowly I could feel reality slipping away. I pleaded with my eyes but no one took a second glance at me. They would know later. They would see the reports and they'd say, yeah, I saw her! I thought she looked real but I didn't think it was. I mean, how could it be? Who does that?