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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Drama · #1329375
A man, his dead lover, a voice that never stops critizising, what will he do?
There were cuts on his arm from where she had dug her nails into him. The blood was begging to crust over and his tears just didn't seem to ever dry.

He rocked back and forth in a corner, the body of his young lover sprawled out on the green carpet, a pool of blood forming around her head and soaking into the carpet.

"What did I do, why did I do it." he whispered in a hoarse whiny voice.

"You did what you had to!" his conscience screamed.

He cried even more, he knew that voice all to well. It was Fred, or better known as Fredric Douglass III. Fred wasn't a pleasant voice that gave comfort and security. Fred was a voice that constantly gave criticism, and constantly insulted him.

"I don't need you know, you made me do this. I shouldn't have listened to you. Go, go away, Your'e nothing to me." he whispered  harshly to Fred.

"Then why do you yearn for my attention. Why do you find the little things that you know will make you angry, just to talk to me?"

"Because," he began, "you listen."

"Right, and why do I listen?" Fred asked.

"Because you care."

"Am I always right?"

"No"

"What?" Fred asked with anger in his voice.

He could still hear the young girl's screams for help as he smothered her, preventing her from breathing. He could still hear Fred, "Good boy, good little puppet, good."

"You were wrong this time Fred, you hear me, wrong!" he screamed.

"Sush you little twit, are you trying to get caught, you know this crappy apartment
as thin walls!" Fred scolded in a whisper.

"I don't care any more Fred, you were wrong!" he screamed again.

"She was going to tell, this slut is nothing to the world. She would've ruined your life! I was right, I helped you!"

"She's only twelve." he said in a winy voice.

"And your tweenty-eight! do you know what they call that in this state? A child molester!" Fred screamed.

His tears were pouring down now, he was a bad person a very bad person, and he knew it. He stood up over her body, Millisa was her name. he kneeled down and took her hand, "I'm so sorry, so so sorry. Forgive me, please, forgive me."

"Shut that damn wining up boy! You now who's coming home right at this instant?"

"Kathy!"

"Right, your overbearing wife is coming home, dispose of the body, now!" Fred ordered.

"No, even if I did somehow this'll come back and bite me in the ass." he thought for a moment, "It's time I do something that I should've done the moment you stepped
into my life!"

"No! don't you dare!"

He got up and strolled over to his closet, were he kept the twelve gauge. He pulled it out with a look of pure joy, he would be free soon, soon.
© Copyright 2007 Ian Moreau (moatsiana at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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