Maneater

"Don't be so cold."

"911, what is your emergency?"

"M-My husband, come quick please, he's bleeding so much. I-I think he's dead."

"Okay, ma'am, calm down--"

"Don't tell me to fucking calm down! My husband is on the floor bleeding to death and you want me to calm down!"

"We're sending paramedics your way right now ma'am, just hold on tight."

I would do anything for him. I would've done everything for him. He betrayed me, and yet my heart still hurts for him. It didn't have to be this way, but he had to feel my hurt. But I guess it didn't work that way, huh? Maybe I should've killed him slower, maybe I should've dug the knife in his chest and twisted it, watched the blood pour out, watched his face light up with realization that this was really the end.

Maybe I should've poisoned him instead, watched him choke on his own breath, crying out breathlessly for fresh air. However, that is the more gruesome, more obvious take. You cannot rule somebody being poisoned as suicide unless you are a character from a Shakespeare play.

Maybe what I did was just fine. They will find the pills he ingested in his system, I'll be fine. He did this to himself. Figuratively, literally. He deserved it. I'm not sorry.

I loved him. Why couldn't he see that?

Sunday, November 10th

"And you can place that last box right there." Zina said to the movers as she motioned towards the corner of the living room of her brand new house. She had just moved to Albany, New York for a job opportunity she received a month prior to her departure. After the death of her ex-husband, she felt it was time to move on with her life.

A big house, the kind in which most American kids dreamed of growing up. Secluded among withered trees on one of the most exclusive streets, it had balconies, a screened-in front porch, a free-standing garage, a gazebo, a pool, the American dream. The neighborhood seemed to be peaceful among other things, white women in track suits jogged with their small dogs along the sidewalk, which had just been cleared of snow.

It was slightly cold outside, mid-November weather. Some people still had Halloween decorations up outside of their windows, others were already hanging up Christmas trees. Zina noticed that there weren't many people of color in her neighborhood, which explained a lot of things.

She hated that she had to move in the middle of a holiday season, because she was further from her family, but she'd do whatever to start fresh. The house was nice, neighborhood even nicer, and the pay was more than a twenty five year old could ask for. She would be happy, for once.

Sighing deeply, Zina flopped down on her leather couch, which she noticed peeled only by the slightest on the arm. Shrugging it off, she dialed her mother's number to let her know she had made it to her destination safely. Getting no answer, however, she decided to leave a message.

She stood up and walked over to where her luggage sat, opening the cage that her dog resided in. The eager puppy rushed out of the cage, her tail wagging furiously as she rubbed her head.

"Now you have a huge backyard outside. There should be no reason I should find shit anywhere in this house, Winnie." She spoke to the dog in a stern tone. She was an Australian Shepherd who had partial albinism, making her fur completely white with two toned eyes, one a pale blue and the other a pale green.