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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

The story of a suicidal woman.


By Joseph Logsdon

Harry gazed at the grave of the dead woman. What happened, you may ask? How could this man be so sad? That question is difficult to answer, more difficult than most questions. She was a beautiful girl, that Angela Carlotta. She was everything he wanted, and at the same time, she was everything he didn’t want. The way she carried herself, accompanied with the way she spoke, made for a hypnotic experience. She was the perfect woman, that Angela Carlotta.

The month prior to her death, Angela had been the happiest woman in the world. Harry remembered that day, every detail ingrained in his mind. He stood on the beach, signaling her to come closer. Her legs were perfect, not yet touched by the ravages of time. Being an older man, Harry almost felt guilty for liking her. Compared with him, she was a kid.

She fell into his arms, her lips touching his. He picked her up and slowly carried her to the edge of the beach. As they embraced, the waves crashed against the shore, instantly soaking them. They didn’t seem to care, and if you were kissing Angela Carlotta, you wouldn’t care either. She gazed at him, proud of his manly allure. He gazed back at her, pleased with her womanly charm.

“Five minutes ago, I wasn’t sure I loved you. You were a kid, albeit an attractive one. Now, on this forsaken beach, I know the truth,” Harry confessed.

“And what is the truth, exactly?”

“I’ve been all across the globe, met many women. They could never compare to you, that much I can say. We could stay like this, just us and the ocean. That would be an adventure, wouldn’t it?”

“I would love to spend every minute with you. Ask me once, you won’t be able to ask again,” she begged him.

“Ask you what?”

“To give it all up,” she answered, lowering her head.

“Give what up?”

“Nothing, forget I said anything,” she replied.

The following month, Harry finally decided to ask Angela to marry him. He walked to her house, flowers in his hand. She was standing in the garden, radiant and beautiful. He started to approach, but was stopped by the laughter of children. Two kids, a boy and a girl, suddenly surrounded her. Were they her children? There was a man standing in the doorway, softly blowing her a kiss. It was her family, the one she had been hiding from him. Before he could be noticed, Harry left the scene, angrily throwing the flowers on the ground.

He opened the door to his bedroom, tears in his eyes. On most occasions, Harry wasn’t the crying type. She had lied to him, deliberately stomped on his delicate heart. Not two minutes later, there was a knock at the front door. Reluctant to answer it, Harry stomped into the living room, his mouth foaming with anger. He grabbed the door, nearly breaking it as he violently swung it open. Angela stood in the doorway, the dropped flowers in her hands.

“You dropped these,” she whimpered, her voice unsteady.

“I didn’t drop them, I tossed them,” he grunted.

“Can I come in?”

“Suit yourself, I’m getting ready to leave,” Harry stated, allowing her inside.

Raindrops fell upon the house. Harry closed his eyes, enthralled with the sound of the rain. Angela stared at him, curiosity in her fragile eyes.

“Right from the beginning, I knew this would happen. I knew that once you found out, I would be back to where I started. You got me all wrong; I’m not some bitch who enjoys cheating on her husband. He’s suffocating me, has been for many years. You were my escape, the one I’d been looking for. I know that, sure as I know anything else,” she choked.

Harry didn’t respond. He glared out the window, quietly watching the water crash against the shore. The storm was approaching, and upon arrival, it would devastate the coast. Harry turned towards her, saddened by what she had done to him.

“I sympathize with your husband, believe it or not. I was like him, exactly like him. My wife left me, for a man she hardly knew. He was young, much younger than her. Now, here we are, the two of us. Me, the older man, and you, the younger woman. I say to you, isn’t that funny? There’s irony in everything, absolutely everything,” Harry laughed.

“Have you lost it?”

“I never had it, so how could I lose it?”

“I’m tired of playing these games. You love me, you said so yourself. I’m the same person, nothing’s changed,” she cried.

“Everything has changed. You went from being the girl of my dreams, to the woman of my nightmares. Go back to your husband, be the wife he deserves. I’m going back to where I belong, away from all this,” Harry stated, opening the door.

“The fact that you don’t understand, makes it that much easier,” Angela cried, running out of the house.

She dashed towards the shore, not stopping for anything. Harry followed her, fearing the worst outcome imaginable. The rain blinded his ability to see clearly, almost as if it were trying to keep him from reaching her. He could see her in the distance, the look of suicide on her pale face. Harry arrived at the shore, too late to make a difference. She was swimming out into the ocean, with the intent of drowning herself.

Never one to give up easily, Harry jumped into the water. He could see her in the distance, out of reach and doomed. He saw her go under, never to reemerge. For a brief moment, he thought about joining her. Death looked very attractive, far more attractive than life. He would’ve ended it, had it not been for the calmness of the water. Before it had even begun, the storm was over.

That was what he remembered about Angela Carlotta. He continued to stare at her grave, silently wishing for some kind of miracle. They never found her body, only scattered pieces of her hair. Harry cried, he cried because he let her die. Harry was about ready to leave, when suddenly, he saw a woman looking at him. She was standing in the shadows, her face unseen. She held up her hand, politely waving at him.

“Who are you?”

The woman said nothing. She turned around, grabbed her purse, and left. Harry gazed at the grave, puzzled and confused.

“You certainly know how to make an exit, I’ll give you that,” he uttered.

The End

Submitted: August 14, 2015

© Copyright 2022 JL reaper. All rights reserved.

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