GUILTY TEARS

To his horror, he realised he'd been this way before. He had done this before. Red splattered the walls and his heart pumped mercilessly into his ears, creating a deafening ringing that made it hard to focus. Blood dripped from his shaky, pale palms. The knife, now stained with crimson liquid, stuck out like a sore thumb in the body of his now ex-wife. Shit. His breathing was unusually steady, though he was panting. Whether from exhaust, thrill, or fear. He didn’t know entirely. Stumbling a few steps away, his sneakers squeaked against the floor, a shudder sounding through his body. Sensitive ears. He gulped slightly, watching as more blood spilled out under her ghostly white dress. As the scene finally registered in his mind, he froze, a few instinctual tears fluttered down the apple of his cheek.

His Wife was dead. And he Killed her. With his own hands, on his own accord.

What was worse? This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Yet, this time it didn’t feel as relieving.

His hands clenched uncomfortably tightly into fists the slight sounds of droplets of liquid hitting steel flooring echoing in the room. His mouth trembled softly, his tongue reaching out and swifting over his dry, cold lips. The smell of the dead lingered in the air, bringing in a sense of unease. Fear. Guilt

“ Oh…Oh god…. “

More tears filled his eyes, beginning to stream down his face, collecting at the edge of his jaw, dripping onto his verdant jacket. He could feel his throat closing up, causing him to slightly gasp for air. A tremble took over his body, his knees going weak and collapsing under his own weight, falling forward, leaning by his partner's body.

“ What have I done….? “

Arms moved to wrap around the deceased’s body, pulling her to his chest, salted water droplets falling onto her face. Her face was shook in a look of pure shock, frozen in place even after death. Hands carded through her pretty blond locks, broken sobs leaving the torn Assailant. This was his fault. This was his doing. The one person that had ever given him a second chance was dead. Smeared in her own blood, dried tears streaking her cheeks. All he could manage to say was sorrowed whimpers as his speech broke up. He pulled his eyelids shut as hot tears flowed down his face in the hope that they would quit. For quite a long time, he sat there motionless, body hugged to his chest, head resting on hers. His breath was choppy, and his eyes were wet, irritated from the pathetic cries of a man in the wrong.

And then, there was a split second of pained silence. Before a gunshot. And the quiet pants of a troubled relative

A surprised little Gasp left his throat, pupils beginning to tremor uncontrollably, his throat constricted with his dying breaths. The bullet, shot from his terrified daughter, punctured its way through his stomach, a gaping hole now left in its wake. Blood quickly tried to fill the hole, before it started to leak through his jacket and his chalky white t-shirt. He fell forwards, leaning against his wife's body, gore soaking her already lifeless body. A restricted, watery cough escaped his throat, blood spraying from his airway in little droplets, some dripping down his chin. There was a small twitch of his body, before he completely stilled, his body shutting down and ceasing to move again. Two birds, two equally gory stones…..