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I stare at the floor, tears welling up inside of me. I stare at the last place I had seen him.
My best friend, Daniel.
He and I had grown up together, laughing children making faces in the mirror. I recall those days with a sigh. Oh for the joy of childhood. The carelessness of teenagers.
I cast my eyes on the mirror in front of me, my reflection as "pretty as the moon" as Daniel would say. I stare at myself.
How different I have become since his death.
How strange I seem to myself, as if a stranger was staring back at me within that mirror. This beatiful woman in the glass world beyond that pristine surface, with blood red lips, deep aquatic blue eyes, and midnight black hair, is not me. She has no emotions. I envy her. She is no widow.
Why has this happened to me? Without him I am a wreck.
This has got to be a dream. A living nightmare.
Someone pinch me.
I shake these thoughts from my head and grasp the memento of my husband, a rose, thick petals like velvet red. Red as his blood. A blooming flower so strong in scent, like his love. A note so inarticulate, yet explains all.
A memory of my husband. No. His murderer.
I had found it at my doorstep a week ago, a note attatched.
His ransome note.
I couldn't pay. Daniel couldn't live.
Even the police can't bring peace to my heart.
Love is useless to me now.
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- by Sapphirianna |
- Fiction
- | Submitted on 05/16/2010 |
- Skip
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