Home > Short Stories > Something Dark and Twisted

Something Dark and Twisted

So apparently I began writing this as a sort poem who knows how long ago. But as I kept continuing it after time lapsese, it became more and more of a short story in a poetic format.

———————————————–

She’s on the ground,
Tired of running with no energy left,
and I finally had her cornered,
To commit the deed of angst and hatred.

She raised her head slowly,
To the nozzle of the gun,
I saw nothing but fear in her eyes,
But I saw no regret for her mistake.

The sleet black colour of the pistol,
I held it tightly in my hand,
Pointed straight at her,
My finger desired to pull the trigger.

Clenched like the teeth of a lion around the neck of its prey,
The trigger was held in the same way,
Oh how difficult it is to not devour one’s prey once caught,
No… it must first be played around with.

Blood keeps gushing to my head,
Fresh blood lets me see a new light- no, darkness,
My eyes taste the helplessness in her,
The black hole in my chest calms.

My hand no longer trembles,
My mind no longer screams,
My legs no longer shake,
My tears no longer pour.

“Please don’t, please I beg you,
Please don’t kill me, I’m sorry!”
Was what she said,
Sorry? Don’t make me laugh.

Where was that apology when it was best needed,
Where were you when I clenched my heart in pain,
Why were you not near when I screamed your name,
You ignored it all, and left me in shattered pieces.

Under the lamp-post,
In this deserted street at bare midnight,
The smooth metal of the gun shone,
It reflected what it should not have, my face in all this terror.

The emotion that crept over me at this moment,
Should never have been unleashed,
The monster here…
If an outsider took a look at this horror scene…

Who would be the monster here?
The one who crashed my life,
Or myself, the one to abruptly stop a life,
Logic and morality crept over,
I screamed in horror.

Of all the things I had stood for,
Now I am nothing more than a hypocrite,
Taking her life, even if she deserved her just desserts,
In my own horror.

The gun falls to the ground,
With the safety off it lets out a deafening shot,
Shut tightly are my eyes in the fear of the sound,
For a moment I believed I was dead.

My brain tells me that there is no pain,
But as my fear struck and sweaty face looks down,
There is a bewitching darkness,
The light of the lamp-post magically goes off.

The cold of the night keeps creeping,
The only sound left to travel the air is my own breathing and a distant moaning,
My enemy now lays on the black pavement,
A warm fluid oozes out.

What have I done?
My intent of mens rea has now become the actus reus,
I did not wish for this,
I didn’t want to kill her.

My prey was my friend,
She was the crutch I stood upon,
This instinct of mine I could not control,
I screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

Weeping, I held her,
And whispered the sorriest apology in her ears,
“I didn’t mean for this… I’m sorry,
Forgive me, for I still love you.”

In that one position as I held her in my lap,
It seemed that an eternity passed,
In the distance – sounds of the authorities came into the clear,
I could not move… I had to accept my fate.

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  1. L 'Via
    February 11, 2009 at 10:26 AM

    Hmmm..
    I think it’s time you checked with a therapist 😀
    ..lolz..I kid…nicely done man..
    …reminded me of Van Helsing for some reason!

  2. L 'Via
    February 11, 2009 at 10:28 AM

    Lolz nice work man again..tho ur still twinkle toes comparec to moi’ in poetry!

  3. February 11, 2009 at 8:55 PM

    yeah yeah, sure.

  4. February 13, 2009 at 5:18 AM

    What is it about unrequited love that seems to inspire so much poetry? If you ever want to read the best of the best of that genre… try Pulitzer Prize winner Carl Sandburg’s ‘Offering and Rebuff.’

    • February 14, 2009 at 12:06 PM

      mmm… I’ve got no clue.
      I guess it’s just human expression that desires to be expressed in one form or another.

      Just Googled that poem, and wow. I must say that it is quite touching.
      Now I just have to find more works by Carl Sandburg! Thanks a lot for letting me know 🙂

  5. February 14, 2009 at 12:52 PM

    Yes it’s quite the poem. What’s most amazing about it, is that I believe he wrote it when he was in his eighties! Love obviously doesn’t get any less complicated or intense with age.

    • February 15, 2009 at 3:18 PM

      Really? aww, that’s great.
      Love is the greatest force known to man 🙂

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