Roses are red,
Violets are blue,You, my love, will die.You smile with sparks,Heal with a touch,But cut with the sword.I love you but,You are just a masquerade.Andre squeezed his hand tighter against the whiskey glass. It would crush in his hand with just a little more force. He bit his lip hard before taking another gulp down. A drink should ease the pain—they say—but it doesn't. A gulp should drown the pain further into profound depths but it doesn't. Rather, he recounted all his aches down till the break. The accident, the rejections. His eyes stung from the tears he fought. Trying to hold his visible pain from the further display, gradually became more of a Herculean task. Red blazing stream of pain, boiling agitation and regrets. Was it anger, grieve or hurt he felt, either way, it wasn't a new feeling. He swirled his hand into the air, releasing the glass into a shattering journey, one he himself had embarked on.
The debris was an exact replica of his heart.
Pain, no, anguish.
He moved closer to the portrait hung blissfully on the wall. Her blazing blue eyes staring back at him, her angelic—sorry, demonic—smile once melting his soul, cuts even deeper into him. His finger trailed the image before him. How could she have done it? He closed his eyes, letting her image sink in with all the emotions. The image of their faded love flashes through his mind. The tears he fought so hard to resist finally came running down almost immediately.
"Beck? What the?" His eyes sprung out of their sockets, jaw dropped in bitter aw, but she only smirked as her naked body ground down on the dark huge man. Their lips were locked but somehow she used her hands to gesture on Andre to join her.
How very thoughtful.
She lets out a gasp, gripping his head closer as their lips locked into even deeper harmonic conflict.
Andre, who had just returned from finishing the office, stood frozen in body, but his heart ripped it's chambers open, bleeding out a four months old love. His eyes gradually became heavy from watching as. Ecstatic moans leaving her mouth.
It was his curse, he loved too easily and deeply. He would give his everything to the wrong person and watch it break over and over again till he lost count.
"No, stop, No..." he pressed both his hands against his ears, attempting to shield them from the memories invading his sanity. He pressed harder, screaming as though the ongoing clip constantly playing within him would stop. "No stop, please, stop please make it stop" he pleaded.
"Babe, come on, join us" Becky stretched her hand calling for him grinning in the most nefarious way he ever imagined. Was she even a demon or was she the devil herself? Her smile tearing into him as she pulled her tongue out to wrap the black shaft.
"No, please... Please stop..." he whimpered. He curled into himself, trying to find solace. Not concerned about the continuous bleeding from his body as he conveniently came in contact with the glass debris, he continuously danced in it.
He danced and swirled in the mixture of blood and broken glasses until he passed out.
His eyes suddenly went open. His hazel eyes turned totally dark. Darkness maybe. His tears sucked in and his fist tightened against the piece of glass which began cutting deep into him.
His mind was numb now, empty of all thoughts but filled with cruelty. Vengeance. He no longer felt a thing, just the winds whistling in the night’s atmosphere.
He pulled his black hoodie, dashing into the cold night. His bruised skin brushed against the thick, rough fabric but he felt nothing, only the taste of blood on his lip and the stench of vengeance.
***
He would not understand her reasons, but it had to be done. Her heart ached on the thoughts of how much she had humiliated herself, most of all, how much she had hurt him. Only if it were easy to say, but whoever had committed treachery before knows to speak of it was much more difficult than the act. Yes, Treachery—that was her crime in her heart, treacherous little heart betrayed the one she loved for what? Was it worth it? It was a question she tried not to ask herself. Was the humiliation and betrayal equal to her career?
She heard a tap on the door, a slow double-tap—again. Pulling another glass of wine, she wrapped her lingerie closer to her body before heading to the door. The wind behind her whistled silent melodies, the air had in it something strange, she couldn't determine what or never noticed. Slowly she reached for the knob, applying a little twist before she pulled.
"What the fuck?" She screamed. Outside the door stood a mannequin with a wigged hair, covered in blood. The shape of a heart carved from its chest with a note.
Your sins came knocking and now you hope for rescue.
Run little Becky, run, her mind chirped in.Becky closed the door, turned the key with shaky hands and the only thoughts in her heart was "911." Her heart began to pound, her hands quivered. Who could possibly play such a silly game?
Silly, if that wasn't the smell of blood.
She rushed through the stairs to the call line, pulled the phone out. The real terror kicked in, seeing the wire fall to the ground as she pulled the telephone. Whoever it was, wasn't joking, and like the horror movies, this is goodbye, Becky.
She felt a warm breath brush against her skin, turned around to see but a cold hand covered her mouth. "Help..." the words only came as muffles. She struggled between the hand and rigid body, till her mind gradually gave in to the stench of chloroform she inhaled.
***
Becky opened her eyes, the cold wind brushing her body, she discovered her state. Her hands tied above her head, her pulse rose haphazardly as she struggled between the bounds.
Tap, tap, Blood dripped from her mouth into the pool of similar liquid beneath her, the threads cut deep into her sewed lips, tearing it even more except, this time she was awake to feel the stinging pain. She stood wide open sobbing while trying to keep her mouth close. Reflections of earlier that day flooded her mind as the tears rose up to her eyes. Was it worth it now? Was it Becky? Her thoughts queried.
"Dre? Dre, is that you?" only if the sounds didn't come as muffles, she would have been saying those words. The sharp trailing sound of metals scrubbing the floor surface distorts her as the heavy steps sent frightening waves down her hitching throat.
"Dre, I didn't mean to," she knew the words came out as nothing but zero sounds, still she spoke anyways ignoring the sting from the threads bounding her mouth together. The black hoodie covered his face from the even dark night as he stared into her eyes. He turned on the electric cooker, placing carved steel on it. Her eyes went wide as she struggled between the pain as the threads cut deep into her sealed lips. Her body subconsciously fighting against her restraints.
Without any words, he rubbed the blade on her nipples, drawing the sharp edge from one end to another, enough to sting but not bleed. The cold blade stung slowly as he pressed hard on her nipple. She struggled to scream, but more pain. Tears rolling down her eyes. She could feel her heart fail but somehow it persisted. The blade stung more, he pressed deeper as the blood dripped down her torn nipple. A little further, it came off into the bow of blood. Turned to the other.
Becky knew death was certain, only if it would come easy.
He pulled the metal from the blue flames holding the rubber end of the long rod. The heat from red hot metal tore her skin just before it rested on her supposed nipple position.
Andre wakes up with a buzzing head and a distant fuzz. No, not the creaking noise from the roof of the house. It is the pain he feels when he has another episode.He grunts as he stretches his arms wideout. He gets up from his bed wondering how he got there, last he remembers, he was staring at Becky's picture which is now a mixture of torn canvas and debris glass.He pressed the alarm down before it began to buzz.The sun was out early and the whistles of leaves can be heard from the distance. The peace and segregation from the main town remind him of the reason he chose to leave on the outskirt.He hates the business of the town and the noise that came with it. The continuous screeching of cars, dogs barking and girls flooding the streets at night.His mind drifts back to last night. Last night when he was engaged. Last night his ring finger was coated in a beautiful metal ring since he
Andre's POV:It is not every day you get accused of killing your ex, one week after you broke up, but no matter what life throws at you, you gather your shattered pieces and move on.Moving on. It is a simple task for everyone in the office, bath, dress up, get some coffee and straight to their desks. But for me, I wonder what it will be like sitting in midst of people who already loathe me for no reason and now they are handed one in a plate of gold.A sheep in lion's den.The city was crowded, as usual, humans, always in their never-ending struggle to fit in, struggle, work. I couldn't help but wonder, to what end did life even lead us? Forcing us to make decisions that shouldn't be there in the first place. The fear that you might go to work today and get fired, you might stay home and get burnt in an unpredictable accident, you might leave to get some drinks
The stalker is everywhere,And nowhere.The stalker gets stalkedThey sit in our seats And feed our children They walk in the streets like us In the end,We are all stalkers.****The door swung open and his hazel eyes were the first thing I noticed, then his white shirt and black trousers. His steps feeling gracious like he was the king of the world.Wait!Did he just walk into the office expecting the world to greet you welcome back? No, he is a damn killer, a thief and a damn liar. He was just worst than the other men—a scum bag. Why do I even hate him this much? Why does the sudden urge to commit murder rise when I see him? He disgusts me.He grinned widely at the people shaking hands with hi
Knock knock!The monster knocks on your door.He brings a gift, One you would not reject.He brings pain.There is no saying no once the door opens.Run as far as you wish,In the end, you find out you accepted this gift.****Even as a boy, Andre knew pain. No, not the kind of pain every child met in the hands of their parents. It was the kind that left a stain in your life. A stigma that follows you everywhere you go. The kind that messed cute little Andre into a rejection, made him a freak in the society. Pain is built in different phases—shades.Andre stared at his mother obliviously, she looked fragile and broken, too broken that even death had refused her. Her grey hair laying weakly on her so
I knew something was wrong, maybe someone was after me or maybe I was losing my mind. It was impossible to tell what was what these days. More importantly, it was impossible to tell why I would kidnap my best friend and drive around with a dead body in the back of my trunk.I had just exited the hospital where my stepmom decided to spend the last of her painful life. She had survived a brutal man to end up in a hospital under the care of young ladies after men rather than caretaking. Well, I guess when you survive death that long, you tend to stay away almost permanently.I sat quietly in the restaurant, it was beautiful, everything about this city is, well except me. No, God no, I am the charm I know that but my head is the death of me.On a different occasion, I will admire the cosy weather and the quietness of the surrounding. The running water and the chaos just outside this glass. But right now, my only thoughts were
When you talk about my life, you talk about a dolphin stuck in a desert. I was a symbol of anguish, the definition of emptiness. I had a job, a best friend like everyone (well used to) an old sick mother in her death bed but...Love was the last thing I wanted because like many people walking the streets today, love broke me. No, not me. Love broke the people who broke me.I stood in front of the mirror, staring at the man I used to know but someone else was staring back. He had the same hazel eyes, the same sadness drawn on his face but he was fucked, all shades fucked.The call had just come in, Detective Jones. Such a pain in the ass. I pulled the bag, holding my tickets. I had to leave this Godforsaken town. Maybe Tranquil will be a nice place to start a life, forget about everything that happened here, Christy, gosh, I wonder what she thinks of me now wherever she is if she is even alive.
When you venture into the dark,You shouldn't fear to meet with darkness.When you wish to be in the light,Then you must first walk through the darkness.Christy's POV:You got your demons, they are nothing compared to the monster I saw when you bound me in your house. He was out for blood, not because I had done anything to him, but because he seeks you. He would tear your world limb to limb to erase everything you love. He had the anger in his eyes, the lust for blood. I know because I felt the same when I stabbed my ex straight to his heart. I have seen it before when James beat me until I lost the baby.From what I can gather, he has his eyes on you. He knows when you leave the house, when you return and when you go to bed. He knows who you dine with, who you meet with and even sleep with. He watches your eve
Secrets are the end of every relationship. Once the seed is conceded in heart, slowly, the death approaches.Many had lost to the seed they conceded at heart and when it unleashes, disaster and death to years of trust and honour.Andre sat in front of his screen, oblivious of the entirety of the environment. He was trapped in the abyss thoughts of Christy. He relived every moment of them, all the smiles at various points. His head hurts already but he was lost too deep to care.Soon it was time to leave, time to play his role in worlds mess. He pulled his files together. He could the pair of eyes, eyes he once thought innocent, staring at him. All the guilt turned to anger. Maybe he considered letting the monster out, maybe if he showed her what torments and pains he passed through, she would understand or maybe he would kill her. Only if you were a fucking killer.He pulled himself, face u