like a velvet red liquor oozing, that licked hungrily at the unshaved visage of a mans face. His blood, rich and violent, painted the pearlescent lips and blonde hair like a sick joke. His eyes, visionless as clear milk, were frozen in the horror of his own death. This question beat my mind, a merciless slavemaster, Who would do this?? The answer flung itself back at me, snickering wickedly in my ears.
Then, s-l-o-w-l-y, almost deliberately, the terror filled my belly like ice-water, and vacuumed the oxygen from beneath my skin till I was chalk-white. It was me. I had killed him.
As you read these words, your eyes are agape, your fingers are shaking, quivering helplessly as you grasp these pages to listen to my story. My horror is your horror... my pain will tear open your emotional flesh and devour you.
A Bar. It started in a bar. The air was salty and moist, exuding the heat of the perspiring bodies that shimmied across the dancefloor. My cheeks were wet, soothing the raw burn of flesh where he had slapped me. My husband, in an inferno of rage. Again.
My brain had felt like it'd been plunged in concentrated chlorine. I remembered the bits and pieces exactly like this: '...lying bastard...your wife...cheated...me!... jobless...SHUT UP GODDAMNIT....... husband....putting up with your crap... soo sick.......over!' and he'd lashed me, slammed the door on my face and I'd run to bar to drown my agony in gallons of cheap beer. Five minutes later, as I had refilled my mug, he'd entered. Looking sorry. Our eyes had met in that melting moment and reminded me of those beautiful days of loves youth. Then the ripcord of reality had pulled me back to my senses. I'd siezed my beer and wrenched my way out onto the backstreets. He followed. 'Sweetheart....' the honeyed overtones of his voice were pressed into the base of my neck. It was almost routine now. All I remember is him babbling 'so sorry...overreacted...didn't mean to...love you...' But that was it. My fuse blew. The fire exploded! Before I could think, my thick glass was smashed into the side of his head, and slicing through his skin. I'd raked my pointed nails across his face, digging the tissue and blood to the surface. He had gasped, stared at me, and the light had left his eyes like a switch. Then he was gone. Just like that. And I passed out too, just like that...
'You are under arrest for the murder of Samuel Montogomery. You have the right to remain silent. Any act of violence will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney....' These words as I muse over as I press my lips to his gravestone, 'Till death do us part...'
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