Sticky

Your blood is on my hands. I lean over your lifeless body, pushing my face into your chest, your teeshirt drenched in your own blood. What have I done. The warm pool of blood around you, I pull myself away. Death is such a weird concept. One minute the spark is there; life in the eyes, blood flowing, the next its gone, over, empty, just the vessel left.

My hands are sticky as the blood begins to dry and my chest heaves. My last meal joining the blood on the tile. Foamy bile as I cough and sputter.

Your death was not something I planned or decided on. It was a split second decision that I will have to deal with for the rest of my life.

Why?

A serge of anger and I plunged the knife deep in your chest. Sharp the blade broke through easily as I felt the bone through the handle of the knife. Like butter, hardly any resistance. It was over, decided, done. Today was your day to die.

The blood began to seep out from under you, up around the knife and you coughed it up onto me as you struggled to breath. I just sat there on top of you. Watching you struggle in your last moments. Watching the life leave your eyes.

How could I have done this?

I bring myself to my feet, but slip in your blood, falling hard to the ground. I pull myself up gripping the counter and pick up the telephone. Slipping down to the floor, I lean my back against the hard cupboards and dial 911.

"911 what is your emergency?" The operator on the other end of the phone says

I stutter, "There, there has been a murder..."

"Ma'am what is your address?"

"I did it, I killed him. I don't know why, but he is dead. I killed him with the knife. He is dead, dead, I did it. Why? I killed him. I don't even have a reason. I should be dead not him, I don't know why."

"What is your address?"

I mutter "52 Front St.", hanging up the phone I stare at your body. What did I do? My eyes blur as the tears well up. Why aren't you breathing? What did I do?

I can hear the sirens in the distance as I pick the knife up again. I shuffle over and drag my knees through the sticky blood. I shut your eyes and give you a kiss on your forehead.

I can hear the door being slammed on as I push the cold steel against my own chest and feel my blood trickle down joining yours on the floor. This is what I deserve I believe as I push the blade as deep as I can before my arms give out and I fall to the floor beside you. My blood mixing with yours as the world darkens, the figures of the people around me fading into the distance as I let the pain leave me.

_____________________________________________________________________

The machines were beeping as the world was brought back into focus. Dingy hospital walls. That light blue green. This wasn't right. I should be dead. There is a pain in my chest. My arms are cuffed to the bed.

No.

I was supposed to be dead. How can I hold onto this guilt this pain forever. The loss of you and knowing that its all because of me.

My vision blurrs as the tears well up and they trickle down my face. The sobs come, but they are met with a sharp tearing pain. So this is my punishment. To live forever with this pain and guilt.

I stop crying and stare at the wall.

I'll never forget your smile. The way you held me. All the good times and the bad, but the moment that will forever haunt me is the pain that crossed your face as I pushed the knife into your chest and hit the floor beneath you. Total betrayal. Hurt, confused all ontop of the pain of the blade.

I need to suffer.

This is what I deserve.