Wow.
It was over. They were dead.
Their bodies lay on the floor in a blanket of blood. It seeped from their veins and ran down the cracks of the wood like tiny rivers, puddling together into a red lake. It stained the floor, in a color that would never come out, and never forget, even when it would be covered up with a factitious camouflage of soft white carpet. Traces of it would still come through.
They had done someone artful with a dull silver pocket knife that rested on the edge of the bed. A semi automatic burned its hole into the wood six feet away, unused, quietly kicked just under the bed, almost out of sight.
His thin body rested in her even thinner one. His head pulled against her chest and her arms wrapped around him, their bloody bodies mingling in a bitter web. His hand tangled with hers, fingers criss-crossed in a delicate manner. The last few drops of blood ran from their wrists, drying and leaving a blotched coat against the pale, porcelain skin of them both.
The loud, booming music still endued from the c.d player, playing a sound neither of them had known, till it ended, and another started; a song a bit subdued and more appropriate for the scene that was laid out in the small white room.
Last words and cries still echoed from the hollow walls, bouncing off corners and shelves. But under the loud music no one could hear them; they fell on deaf ears.
No one ever heard them, no one ever saw before. And now they would all see, when their bodies would be discovered in the morning, they would all see what the world had missed.
They were dead, and it was all their fault.
[Beautiful]
Their bodies lay on the floor in a blanket of blood. It seeped from their veins and ran down the cracks of the wood like tiny rivers, puddling together into a red lake. It stained the floor, in a color that would never come out, and never forget, even when it would be covered up with a factitious camouflage of soft white carpet. Traces of it would still come through.
They had done someone artful with a dull silver pocket knife that rested on the edge of the bed. A semi automatic burned its hole into the wood six feet away, unused, quietly kicked just under the bed, almost out of sight.
His thin body rested in her even thinner one. His head pulled against her chest and her arms wrapped around him, their bloody bodies mingling in a bitter web. His hand tangled with hers, fingers criss-crossed in a delicate manner. The last few drops of blood ran from their wrists, drying and leaving a blotched coat against the pale, porcelain skin of them both.
The loud, booming music still endued from the c.d player, playing a sound neither of them had known, till it ended, and another started; a song a bit subdued and more appropriate for the scene that was laid out in the small white room.
Last words and cries still echoed from the hollow walls, bouncing off corners and shelves. But under the loud music no one could hear them; they fell on deaf ears.
No one ever heard them, no one ever saw before. And now they would all see, when their bodies would be discovered in the morning, they would all see what the world had missed.
They were dead, and it was all their fault.
[Beautiful]