Write a short story with Murder as a central theme.
Already the irritating fly that eluded my swatting earlier takes its vengeful residence amidst the rapidly-mounting pool of blood in which I lie; a sea of deepening red that this morning flowed warm and sustaining through my veins. Yet I do not shoo the fly away. My lifeless body is numb and unresponsive in spite of my active mind that buzzes with replays of the horror of this day, of flashbacks to the days that preceded it, and of visions of the days that would go on without me.
Is this an eternal torture I am fated to endure, a perverse punishment for my supposed deceit; a fervent mind in a lifeless vessel? “This is not justice,” I scream in my head. “I never planned to trick anyone.” All I wanted was freedom to follow the urge that beckoned from my heart. No more than any person ever wants, or deserves. Hurting Ron was no callous, calculated act; it just happened.
Soon, Jolene and Sean will return, and I am horrified that they will find me this way. A dead husband, a dead father, a stiff, contorted body riddled with gaping knife wounds at the bottom of the staircase. There could not be a more shocking discovery, right? Wrong, my friend, so wrong. I should have trusted in Jolene and my love. I should have trusted in Jolene. She would have understood had I only allowed her the chance, but now it is too late. Any chance to explain has passed, the opportunity to right my wrongs forever gone. Never will I be able to look Jolene in the eye and ease the hurt, the confusion, the anger of the woman I have always adored.
And what will Sean think, my precious little boy, when he sees his Daddy dressed in a pearl-white silk blouse and black knit skirt, opaque tights and shiny knee-high black boots? What will my little boy think of his father’s bright red lips, of his mascara-coated lashes, of his blonde wig? What will Sean think of me then? Will he ever again remember throwing the baseball around together, our annual father-son camping trip, the wrestling matches
Is this an eternal torture I am fated to endure, a perverse punishment for my supposed deceit; a fervent mind in a lifeless vessel? “This is not justice,” I scream in my head. “I never planned to trick anyone.” All I wanted was freedom to follow the urge that beckoned from my heart. No more than any person ever wants, or deserves. Hurting Ron was no callous, calculated act; it just happened.
Soon, Jolene and Sean will return, and I am horrified that they will find me this way. A dead husband, a dead father, a stiff, contorted body riddled with gaping knife wounds at the bottom of the staircase. There could not be a more shocking discovery, right? Wrong, my friend, so wrong. I should have trusted in Jolene and my love. I should have trusted in Jolene. She would have understood had I only allowed her the chance, but now it is too late. Any chance to explain has passed, the opportunity to right my wrongs forever gone. Never will I be able to look Jolene in the eye and ease the hurt, the confusion, the anger of the woman I have always adored.
And what will Sean think, my precious little boy, when he sees his Daddy dressed in a pearl-white silk blouse and black knit skirt, opaque tights and shiny knee-high black boots? What will my little boy think of his father’s bright red lips, of his mascara-coated lashes, of his blonde wig? What will Sean think of me then? Will he ever again remember throwing the baseball around together, our annual father-son camping trip, the wrestling matches