I am here to tell you a story
a story that will torture your thoughts by day
and poison your dreams by night
and though i will do my best,
there are no words that can be written
nor brush strokes laid on canvas
that can describe this stark
and utter horror of the night that Annabel died
the emptiness will haunt you
-------------------
I look out my window, and see the sun rising up over the horizon. I'm in a state of pure happiness. My name is insignificant to you, but you may call me the Artist. In the small town of Slough, England, I can mark the date that is the definition of calamity. It is the year 1898, and lying next to me is the most beautiful woman I have ever known. Annabel. I turn away from the window, and towards my beautiful Annabel, to wake her with a kiss.
I press my lips to hers, and shudder soon after. Her soft, pink lips, are now cold and blue. Her lifeless body just lays in my bed, chilling me with the feel of death. She is no longer beautiful. Her healthy pink skin, now a dull white, save for the area colored by lividity.
Now the sun rays that come flooding in, once so refreshing, burn and sting my eyes. My lungs fail to circulate air, and I find myself sputtering for breath. I pull Annabel to me, and pick her up, moving her to the center of our bed. I see now, that her blue lips drip blood, and it stains her neck. I stare at her lips for hours, waiting for them to move, as her lifeless eyes regain their color and she tells me that she's fine. But, upon looking into her eyes, I become enraged.
"I will kill the bastard who harmed you," I scream, "and he will pay for what he's done!"
The portraits and sketches I've drawn of her surround me, taunting me. I see her blood running down my hands, and wipe them across all of the sketches of her, panic over whelming me and driving me to insanity. All of the paintings are made personal, now, each one sporting her own blood.
One last time, I will lay next to her. My eyes catch hers, and I feel myself coming undone. It is at my hand that her life was taken. Her eyes accuse me, filled only with hatred and terror. The mirror that sits in the corner of the room shows my reflection. Evil. Monster. Murderer. The blood on the mirror, now dried, bring the events of last night, attacking me in memories.
Her scream floods my ears, and I see now that I am covered in blood. Blood that was once hers. My stomach begins to convulse, and bile and blood fill my mouth.
Anyone who comes into this room will look into the mirror, and they will know what happened. What I did. Do you not see it?
Mirrors never lie.
