Monday, 23 April 2012
Pretty sure @DarklyLitWords supplied me with this title ages ago in a comment on one of my other posts; so props to Blake for inspiring me even now.
Perhaps it could be called suicide instead of murder, but I maintain I never killed myself, only that part of me that I have so long despised. She was her own person after all. I pinned her to the floor with nails through her palms and ankles, like the savior she pretended to be, and then I took my time digging through her flesh. Her chest cavity caved underneath my persistent pawing, and I found the treasure beneath; the thing that made her unique, that organ that played the tune she danced with. I curled my fingers around her ribcage bones and broke them off one by one, each one cracking with a scream. Her lungs curled up inside her with each inhale, as if they were trying to escape my hostile hands. It wasn’t her every breath I wanted to steal, but her every heartbeat. I reached inside the hole I’d dug and cradled her heart within my hands. It wriggled inside my palms, but still I severed the strings that held it in place and raised it from the dead. It shivered in the open air, but I caressed it with my fingers and cradled it to my face. “Hush now, you’re safe my pet.” The lie I spoke and the words dropped from between my teeth upon her heart’s surface, and it suckled from them like a baby, believing every drop. I held my prize to my face as I straddled my muse’s corpse. I pressed it to my lips and gave it tender kisses, and then I sunk my teeth into her delicacy, and I swallowed whole the blood and screams of her heart, the essence of her being, so that they could never bother anyone ever again.