The Murder
The Murder stories
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starsandthemoon
starsandthemoonThe world is quiet here
Autoplay OFF  •  7 months ago
a murder witnessed, but not from the point of view of the murderer or the victim. The point of view that gets no voice. : Warning: Contains mature content (Murder, Blood, Violence)

The Murder

It was dark and dank but I felt so cold. What I was about to do. What would be forced to do. I had no voice and I had no free will. I was surrounded with innocents I didn’t know.

Soon I would become guilty while they remained innocent.

In a time that seemed to be millenia ago, I had lived a simple life. I existed in harmony doing what I loved with those who loved me.

But then one day Darwin Shaymus Gaunt stole me away and spoke of using my skills in a way I had never imagined I could be capable of. He spoke of the lady I served and in a vile, cruel way.

He spat on her name. He loathed her with a burning hated that grew with each day I spent lying prone in his dingy room.

His emotions quite frequently changed from anger to sadness to loneliness and back again to anger.

Once in awhile, he would pick me up and pace around flipping me around and around until I got dizzy; and then some more.

In a short amount of time I learned what kind of murky, grim gears spun in his head making him say these vicious things.

By the time I made it into his pocket, I was every inch of my body was covered in his fingerprints, sweat and tears. And in due time I’d be covered in blood as well. I could hear him.

Each quiet breath like the whisper of a shadow. Barely there.

In and out.

In and out.

His pounding heartbeat louder than my own weak pulse.

Thump.

Thump.

The light scraping of old worn-out wool brushing against polished wood.

And then it stopped. All of it. The breaths, the heartbeats, the footsteps. It was time. He pulled me out and the moonlight glinted against my glistening body. I was dreading my existence.

I was cursing my own being and his.

The monster. The torn-up boy who was so far past destruction, nothing could save him. In his eyes, I saw more than I could comprehend. Emotions that had no name.

I felt the rough calluses of his sinful fingers as he delicately angled me in his right hand, the hand that used to flip me while he would spit insults about the woman in front of me.

I heard the sharp intake of breath right before he plunged me down to the hilt into his mother’s soft belly as blood brighter than a pile of rubies slowly pooled around me.

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