The Sweetest Death

Eight+

© Amber Kalkes 2014

Song------------}

Eight+

The chill doesn’t affect me as I let the man in the Armani suit fall the ground with a thud. He was lured by my distressed calls like any Good Samaritan would be and I took advantage of that. When he lands I hear something metal scrape against the tarmac below. Curious I bend over him and reach into his front packet to find a silver zippo lighter and a pack of imported cigarettes.

Slipping my loot into the front pocket of my sweat pants I walk over the dead body and into the night. I don’t care to clean up after myself. I don’t bother to feel anything because the pain in my chest is becoming suffocating. I feel like I’m drowning in a pain even this sturdier body wasn’t meant to feel.

As I pass people in the night on this more ritzy side of town they give me odd looks. I suppose I can see why. I’m dressed in a pair of gray rolled at the waist sweat pants, bare feet and red tank top. I most likely look insane but I’m not in the mood to particularly care. Instead I pull out a cigarette from the pack I stole from Richey Rich the abandoned corpse and put it between my lips.

Lighting it I inhale the smoke. It’s a welcomed feeling. I used to smoke all the time but quit when I was eighteen for financial reasons. I simply couldn’t be paying five bucks a pack when I was out living on my own. It was never about my health but then again nothing ever really was.

“Mam, are you all right?” someone asks me.

I turn towards the sound and see a fairly young looking police officer frowning at me. His dark blonde hair is buzzed close to his face and his lovely green eyes are clouded with concern as he looks at me. He’s the kind of guy I would have been all tongue tied over back when I was human and alone. Now? Well now he just looks like a sweet meal.

Bitterness strikes at my stomach.

Edgar really has made me a monster.

But I welcomed it with open arms.

Maybe it’s I who am the monster.

“I’m fine.” I croak out.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I could call for some assistance.”

Giving him my most pleasant smile, “No thank you, sir. I just needed a nice breath of fresh air. I understand my clothing aren’t the best choices but I couldn’t sleep.”

“Do you need a ride back home?”

I shake my head, “No thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.” I nearly snap.

I’m not in the mood for someone’s help. I just want to be left alone to do as Edgar so elegantly called ‘wallowing in my own self pity’ because I can face the fact that yes, I do, do that. But so what? It’s how I work, how I function. It would be ridiculous of me to expect just because I fell in love that all my problems would be swept under the rug.

For the past seven months it appears I’ve been ridiculous.

Walking past the handsome officer I drift back into thought. Was I emotionally dead? No, that wasn’t my problem. My problem was that I felt too much. My heart was too soft for a world like this one. I’ll admit my turn from human to mythical creature added a bit of confidence. I knew I wasn’t anyone’s victim anymore, I could take care of myself in the general and people didn’t scare me as much. Still I know that I felt emotion.