Beautiful Tragedy

I know it's not very good... But it's novice writing.... So please, be gentle.

You never told me what was happening. Every day I would do my best to release the words inside of you. But you were so unwilling to speak...
I should have known what was going on. I should have seen through your lies and realized the truth. Then maybe I could have stopped him. I wouldn’t be standing here now. I wouldn’t be crying these tears. You and I would be laughing and smiling, like we always used to, years ago.
I watched them lower you into the ground. Inside your coffin you lay perfectly still, your clothes carefully chosen, and your make-up done to perfection. Your bruises weren’t visible. That’s the way you would want it to be… You always wanted to cover up what he had done to you.
They put flowers all around your body - your favorite kinds. The red, pink, and white roses were arranged so beautifully that I’m sure if you could have seen them, you would have burst into tears. But maybe you did see them; maybe you did start to cry. I will never know.
The amount of people here would amaze you. You were always so ignorant to the number of people who cared. Each and every day we tried to convince you, but I know our words were never heard; just like your cries for help.
I will never know exactly what happened that day. I don’t know how many times he hit you, and I don’t know how many tears you cried. But I do know that it was all too much. You never deserved what he gave to you. You were such a sweet person, but he chained you down.
I remember walking home that night, I saw him on the streets. The expression on his face could have killed someone. I approached him, and asked him where you were. He told me that he had left you at home. His voice never softened as he talked about you, the way it should have. It sounded just as his face looked - cold and murderous.
Something wasn’t right, and I knew it. I ran back to your house. The door was unlocked so I let myself in, just like I had done for so long… until he came into the picture.
Your house looked just like it always had. The dark furniture gave the rooms inside a mysterious atmosphere. I made my way past the couches and chairs to the stairs that led to the second level. Somehow I knew just where you were and what you had done. I tried so hard to fight my intuition, but it was too strong. Curiosity kept me going up those stairs, and through the long hallway. I thought, ‘Maybe I’m wrong.’
Oh, God, how I wish I was wrong.
But I looked into your bedroom, and there you were. You looked so beautiful, even in your tragedy. Tears welled up in my eyes as I saw what you had done to yourself. Your action was carried out recently, I knew this because your limp body still swayed gently and your wrists still leaked blood. Tears had smeared your make-up and stained your cheeks. You never deserved this.
Blood from your wrists colored your white dress, the one that you had been so excited to wear. The satin sleeves stopped at your elbow, and they fitted your arms perfectly. I stepped into the room and touched the soft dress that I had helped you pick out months ago. Your face had been glowing when you tried it on, and we both knew that it was “the one.” I had always assumed that this dress would be worn on happy occasions, not ones that brought your demise… But it just so happened that those two were on the same day.
He must have done something extremely severe. You hadn’t even bothered to leave a note. I cried even more as I stroked your soft hair. Today you had it up in a tight bun, with a few curls falling around your face. However, now it was falling out of it’s hold, and dark brown locks enclosed your face. I pushed the stranded hairs away and moved my thumb across your smooth cheeks. Some of the dried make-up fell off, and you looked even sadder.
God, how I hated him for what he had done to you. Not just today, but for the past years. I didn’t know it before, but somehow I knew it now. This abuse was not new.
I stepped away from your dead body and ran downstairs to the phone. I dialed 911 and waited for them to come. Once they did, I was bombarded with questions. I couldn’t give them a straight answer. I knew what he had done to you, but there was no proof. Why would someone believe that the groom beat his new wife? I was lost, and I had no way of finding my way back to where I needed to be.

Ever since then, I have had no idea of where this life was going. I needed you to survive. You. My sister. My best friend. I loved you.
Today I saw him. He mourned like everyone else. I don’t know if it was just for show or if he really did feel remorse for pushing you over the edge. If he didn’t, then I would make him. I slowly plotted my revenge.

Today was the day. If I were to carry this out, it must happen now.
I went to your house, where he still lived. Once again, the door was unlocked. I went inside and found him dozing heavily on the couch - a different couch. He had the nerve to kill you, and then change what you had worked so hard to create. I loathed him even more.
I snuck past him, and into the kitchen. I remembered all the times we had been in here, creating all sorts of mayhem. A few fires, and some smoke. I missed you so much.
I found the drawer that held the knives. I picked out the biggest, sharpest one. I carried it back to where he slept, and watched him for a few minutes. He almost looked innocent, and I almost felt bad for what I was about to do. But I could not let him get away with what he had done to you. He raped you of your dignity, and you never knew. Silently he destroyed you, and you followed blindly. I cursed your ignorance. My words made him stir slightly, and I decided that his fate could not be taken so easily. I woke him up, and after a few moments he realized what was going to happen. He looked at the knife with a look that I loved. It was full of fear. For once, he was the one being punished.
He lay on his back, and I jabbed the knife deep into his stomach. His face showed pain and confusion. I was enjoying this too much. Blood leaked from the wound as I made another right next to it. More blood flowed.

I stabbed him five times before I felt I had had my fill. His face held an expression of almost tranquility, so I knew that death was near. With a final stroke, I held his head back with one hand and slit his throat with the knife. I loved his suffering.
I had had my revenge. My life felt complete. I looked back at the wall behind me, there was blood splattered everywhere. The sight brought a twisted smile to my face. I knew what I had to do next.
With a steady hand and concentration, I brought the knife into my chest. I fell back onto the floor as the world around me began to fade. With my last stroke of consciousness, I thought, ‘What a beautiful tragedy this is… with the walls painted crimson, and sweet revenge lingering in the air.’