The Things One Will Do For Love

Fiction By Annie // 2/24/2010

 Note- Not something I usually write, this was an assignment for class, but I had a lot of fun with it. 

 

Every time I saw them my heart turned cold. I filled with wrath at just the mention of them. More to the point, I hated him. The girl, I loved the girl, but him? I hated him.

 

   For what reason, you may ask? For taking her, for taking what was, no, is mine. He had everything already, all the money you could ask for. The house that was more like a mansion. He was cocky, and rude. Why she loved him, over me, her best friend, was beyond me. All I knew is that I had to do something. If I didn’t, I’d go mad watching them together, happy, while I drowned in my loss of her.

 

   Tonight, I resolved, I would do something. What I was going to do, I was not sure. The details I had yet to work out the details, but I had to make her see that he wasn’t the one for her.

 

   While I paced in my room, the dark walls seemed to close me in like a box, my heart beat like a wild sprit pounding to get out. My strides brought me to the window, and with fiery eyes I looked down at the cobblestone street. No! It couldn’t be! Was it? It was! Charlotte and Thomas, together. My blood boiled. It was then that I knew what I would do. I would rid of him forever.

 

   I began to devise my plan. It would take place tonight. There was no moon, so it would be pitch black out. I wouldn’t do it when he was asleep. No, I wanted him to see me, his murderer. I would have to wake him. I relished the thought, and for the rest of the evening I was planning, and sharpening my knife, with giddiness. After he was dead, Charlotte would come back to me, and fall in love with me, of this I was sure.

 

   At exactly half past eleven that night, I crept from my old, small house and out into the street. I navigated the quiet street like a mouse, not a singe noise came from me as I went to the home of my prey. Creeping up to the towering mansion, I let a smirk to curl over my lips. This was what I hade been waiting for. The gate creaked as I opened it slowly and I grimaced, just slipping through the smallest opening I could make. Not much further now! I was so close to victory.

 

   The building was dark, the trees surrounding it giving it an eerie appearance. It was as if they moved on their own, crowding the mansion and stopping anyone from coming through the large, dungeon like doors. A shiver went down my spine, but I was going to go through with this. The door wasn’t locked. Oh! My luck is with me. The doors swung easily open as I walked inside.

 

   The room he was in was easy to find. It was only the best for Mr. Thomas. Just as I thought, he was asleep as I pushed the door open. My careful planning was aiding me, and I was glad I had thought over every bloody detail.

 

   I now stood by my victims bed, my hand on the knife I had taken from my boot. My eyes glinted, matching the silver blade in the dark. Relishing the moments of seeing him defenseless, I stared at him for a while before I chose to wake him. The cold blade I pressed against his cheek, the sharp point reaching my victims’ ear, my hand above his mouth.

 

   The man awoke as soon as I did this, not doubt scared out of his wits. I chuckled lowly, the blade of my knife bringing a crimson line along his cheek.

 “Goodbye, Thomas…” I whispered, before my knife slipped down, and in one quick motion, slit his throat.

 

   Not even a squeak came from the man, or the room. But the fear in his cold, lifeless eyes aloud me to grin in victory. I had no idea that indeed, someone had seen my. This was not part of my plan. I didn’t even consider it! Why would I even know that Charlotte, my Charlotte, had seen me from the doorway?

 

   I laid my knife upon the nightstand and with care, began to wrap the cold body up in the top blanket. I’d carry him out and burry him in it. It was stained from his fresh blood, after all.

 

   Not hearing the footsteps behind me, no, I was too confident now, I continued my planned out murder. I only knew something was wrong when I looked to the nightstand. The knife! Where was it? I spun, confronted by Charlotte, her blue eyes leaking tears, the knife held in her trembling hands. I stepped towards her, opening my mouth to speak but before I could tell her my reason, she spoke.

 “No Peter. You deserve to die.” She whispered. The words chilled me, and I stepped back. But alas, it was to late. Her small, delicate form sprung at me with such force I had not imagined she could have. The knife, poised in her hand, shoved into my chest and through my shallow heart. She was right that I deserved to die.

 

   In my last, shaking breath while I lay upon the wooden floor, I whispered, “I love you, Charlotte.” My heart ceased to beat, and my eyes, with their last glimpse of Charlotte, were plunged into darkness.

 

   Not long was I in this darkness before I awoke. I was confused. Where was I? Why was I in the same room I had been killed in? Horror filled me as the sight of my corpse, still on the floor. I looked so cold, so lifeless. But I was very alive, my mind was. My vision was sharp, but when I looked at myself, all I saw was fog. I was a ghost. I tried to walk, but found it felt more like floating.

 

   Charlotte was there, by Thomas. I wished I could comfort her in flesh, but now I would be with her forever. I could protect her from others. And if she found another man to take my place, I would simply rid of him too. 

Comments

I must say that was

I must say that was terrible....but it was beautiful, too. It was...wow. I didn't like it that Peter had no remorse for what he did, and that he plotted to do the same thing again. Love--true love---would never drive someone to something so terrible without remorse. I like your writing style a lot, but the story made me sad. :-(

Clare | Mon, 03/01/2010

...

This is good.  I regret to say that I can understand Peter.  Not that I would go as far as he did, and I don't hate them, but... yeah.  I like how you wrote this.

Bridget | Tue, 03/02/2010

"I always wonder why birds stay in the same place when they can fly anywhere on the earth. Then I ask myself the same question." - Harun Yahya

Thank you :)

 I agree with you--true love would never do such a thing. Peter is a very twisted fragment of my imagination. We were studying Poe at the time I wrote this, but I'm really not a horror story writer, I prefer happier things. Hopefully the next one I post will make people more joyful :)

Annie | Tue, 03/02/2010

...

ANNIE!!!! It's amazing! Even more amazing than I remembered it being!

Ariel | Wed, 03/03/2010

*****************************************
"To produce a mighty book, you must choose a mighty theme. No great and enduring volume can ever be written on the flea, though many there be that have tried it." -- Herman Melville

This chilled me to the bone.

This chilled me to the bone. It was amazingly and brilliantly creepy. I don't agree with Peter, etc., etc., but I don't think you wanted people too. You wanted to show something--prehaps the dark side of human nature-- and you did that. Very well, too. Good job. :)

Sar | Sun, 03/07/2010

...

 Ariel- Thank you! 

Sarah- Thanks, that exactly how I wanted it to be :) 

Annie | Sat, 03/13/2010

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