I Will Kill You!

I’d only asked him to help me. “Just this one time, please. I’ll never ask for anything else again.” “I’m not going to help you,” he said. “Don’t ask again.” And he hung up.

Hysteria tore through me. I was sobbing and sobbing louder. No one was home, nobody could hear me. I threw glass after glass at the wall but they didn’t break. Finding something, anything and hauling at a mirror, a wall, a window. They wouldn’t break. *I* was breaking. But they wouldn’t break. I swear if I see him, I’m going to kill him. I will. I might. I want to. For not helping. For not caring. For not doing.
I sat up against the wall and hummed a listless tune. Sliding the blade down. Oh the verticle lines, the ribbons of red adorning my wrist. It wasn’t going deep enough. “Come on then,” her voice eerily changing into a cockney accent. “It’s not going very deep, dearie. Whose rough skin dulled my blade?” and she slashed. Small beads of blood rose to the top of the skin. All the while she sat there rocking and sobbing and administrating small cuts to her flesh. She wiped the crimson fluid with a cloth yet it still continued to pour out. Quietly crying hysterically. Then she got up, and went to bed.

In the morning she drank a cup of coffee, still rigid from the previous night. She wore a long sleeved shirt to hide her bloody tracks. Staring ahead at nothing, as if in a daze, she began to chant;
“Ich habe du
Du hatte mich
Ich habe nichts
Du bist nichts”
And sat there slowly rocking. Then suddenly bolted up and threw the coffee cup across the room. She stood there gasping for air. Anger throught the circumference of her face. Her eyes were wild and intese. God forbid you should stand in her way. She slowly look at the walls and grabbed a rag. Cleaned the splatterd coffee off the walls, as if the blood of a suicide’s gun shot.

He wouldn’t help her. This man that she loved. He’d refused to see her. Andrew Hawthorn, the love of her life. That’s what he was to her. It didn’t matter that her mother was a prostitute and using her as a prop. It didn’t matter. Oh, it’ll matter, Shelley thought. Because I’m going to kill you. And I will. I WILL kill you! That night Shelley crouched behind a bush a few feet from his apartment building. “Du bist nichts, du bist nichts!” she continued chanting. She darted out from the bush and crept into the building. She put her ear up to the door; silence. Slipped the key from under the mat and quietly, ever so quietly stepped inside. There he lay, as if an angel sleeping on a pillowy cloud, content in slumber. “You wouldn’t help me,” she whispered, biting back tears and swalling the scream in her throat. She’d loved him so much. But he wouldn’t help. It had come down to this. How sad, how so very sad. But a smile spread across her face. She bent down to gently kiss his forehead. “I’m going to kill you now, ” she whispered in his ear. “For not loving me anymore”. She raised the knife abover her head — and staggered. Pain engulfed her stomach. Confused, she looked up. He was awake! “Nooo! You betray me!” she screamed. She looked down and stared at the knife in her stomach. And fell to the floor.

By RoseTears

I am sleeping in a pool of blood Don't act like you don't kill me with your words Writing, sleeping, dreaming, singing, ...just ask.