The Crushed Rose

RED

Anastasia Novikov:

RED. Red dripping from my hands, red dripping from my clothes, red dripping from the stab wound in my abdomen. 

Funny.

 I thought that getting stabbed would be extremely painful. The screams of the people I killed this way certainly told me so. But now that I am in this position myself, it does not seem so. In fact, I can barely feel the pain. It is just a dull throb. Certainly not enough to overpower the pain in my heart.

What would be your first thoughts when you have a knife sticking out of you? Probably something like 'Oh fuck! I am dying'. Guess what mine was.

 'Father is going to be pissed'

And definitely not in a good way. He would not be pissed because he killed me and I was dead. He would be pissed that I could not succeed in my mission. What a useless piece of shit I am. Could not even do a simple job like this without getting myself killed. These will be his thoughts when he hears of my death. I am certain. I could already hear his thundering voice booming with anger. It almost made me flinch. Suddenly dying looked like a better option than living through that.

Oh! And Mama. How heartbroken she will be. I could not even say goodbye to her. Shit. There is going to be no one to look after her after I am gone. This hurt way more than disappointing my father and the fucking knife. Fuck if I could only save her before dying. She is the purest of the purest souls and Father dearest will definitely stomp all over her heart of gold if I am not there to defend her. Shit! If only I could tell her how much I love her one more time. She is going to be the only person I miss. Fuck fuck fuck. I cannot leave her like this. Damn. It's like someone twisted the knife inside of me. 

Then I remembered how young I was and how much there is left for me to see. HA! If father was ever gonna let that happen. 

I looked up at the man who killed me. The bloody fucker had left the knife there so I slowly bleed to death. But I have to admit. He is a beautiful bloody fucker. 

His eyes were a shade of green you only ever read about in books. His dark black hair, like a river flowing straight out of hell. His face looked like it was carved from the best stones by the best sculptors. The man was a Greek god come to life. But with the gun in his hand and the splatter of blood, my blood, on his white shirt and the play of shadows on his face, Vincenzo Romano looked a spawn of Satan. A reincarnation of Lucifer himself.

He was smiling at me. The audacity. 

Oh I hate him so much it can't even be described in words. How dare he kill me. I mean sure I have attempted to murder him one, two, three or four times but how could he kill me? Stab me right in the stomach.

But why did the stab wound not feel like a pain. Why did it feel like a relief?

My entire life, I was bound by shackles. Controlled by my father. What I eat. What I wear. What I say. What I do. Who I kill. Who I like. Who I talk to. Everything was controlled by him. I had no say upon my own life. How pathetic. A mere puppet in his hands. How sad. But now finally I was doing something without his consent. Even if it was dying. My prison of a life was finally coming to an end. I would finally be free from my father. 

But does that make the man standing in front of me a killer or a reliever?

These were my last thoughts before my knee gave up and I fell face first into a pool of my own blood and my eyes closed. a single tear trickling down my cheek.