Hiccups.

At this point in my life, I’d like to live as if only love mattered, as if redemption was in sight, as if the search to live honestly is all that anyone needs, no matter if you find it.

~Tracy Chapman~

Here's a little bit of a new short story, i'm working on. I must warn you it's not for the faint hearted. I think I got a little carried away.

~

Her sanity was slowly slipping from her grasp and yet, she felt calm and collected as she picked daisies from the field filled with wild flowers. She felt calmer than she’d ever been in her life, actually. She watched her warm white hand graze the tips of the flower petals, as she contemplated which ones to use on her father’s dead eyes. She had just finished plucking them out. Her fingers were still pruned from the wetness of his blood. She planned to insert the stems into the sockets like a lover would insert a rose in a vase. She was excited about this. Feelings of joy and accomplishment bubbled in her slowly, brewing up and down her child sized body- the one she hated all because of him.

He moved her out into an isolated area on the mountains so that no one would hear her screams as he raped her every day and every night for 15 years. He kept her locked in a basement when he wasn’t forcing himself on her. But little did he know, she had a plan to stop it all. And now, as she walked through the miraculous field, speckled with the colors of flowers, she had accomplished everything she ever wanted from that plan. She killed him. She stopped the devil that he was.

Her small hands and arms still covered in dried blood dangled down her sides. In one hand were a bundle of flowers. In the other a knife. It was with that knife that she stabbed him in the heart. He was eating cereal with his back to her at 5am. She stared at the back from behind him. Contemplating the consequences. Weighing the pros and cons. And ultimately deciding that feeling satisfied was more important to her than going to jail. What the hell, she thought. I already managed to escape the basement. And with that she did it. She just opened the drawer with the knives, grabbed one, walked right behind him, lifted it with two hands over her head, and pushed it deep into his chest. It was as if she was doing the hymlick maneuver, except with a knife in her hands.

He didn’t die instantaneously. Not like she expected. He put up a fight. But it didn’t matter. He was finally weak. And she had the strength to beat him to death with a knife.

And so it was. He was finally dead. And she finally lived in a world where he no longer existed. Her dreams had come true. Yippee, she thought as she walked back toward the wooden house with the big front porch. Inside, he lied naked. He was a total mess. Blood and guts were everywhere. She intended to cut the snake off that would wiggle between her legs at night, but instead took a sledge hammer and bashed it in. It was too hard to cut off and she was tired of touching it. After that she had carved her initials into his chest. Only to come to the conclusion that ripping his stomach open and pulling his guts out would be more fun. After that she boiled the guts and shoved them down his empty throat. And then finally, she decided to give him some sense of grace. She decided to put daisies on his eyes. It was those eyes of his that evoked the grace, in the last moments before his death. He looked so sad and apologetic as he wailed from pain. She almost felt remorse.