A Word That Start With S
Dayna Samuels (age 14)
01 Sep, 2011 10:33 PMhe's walking no he's treading quickly towards the big oak tree where she said she'd meet him there's an anxious smile on his lips a single blood red rose clutched in his sweaty palms and a little velvet box which held a ring of gold and ruby he's twiddling his thumbs each quick breath brings no relief to his gasping lungs or his heart beat flitting at a thousand miles an hour his feet are all twisted with each other all of his thoughts are of her face he takes out the box opens its squeaky hinges and examines its contents the perfect ring one worthy of the rest of her life she would love it she would say yes then he sees her his dark angel wearing that dress the one she knew he loved the one with the almost long enough tulle skirt the patchwork corset that hugged her body so tight and barely enough lace to cover her white breasts her eyes she had painted like an egyptian queen her soft lips were their usual pale flush her short fingernails were the color of midnight as were her dainty toes dampened by the young night's dew her fair skin a seamless match to the finest silk but his joy is short lived as he sees her mouth hangs ajar her emerald green eyes stare blankly into nothingness her feet dance wildly in the wind inches from the ground and most of all atop her chain necklace is a noose of thick brown rope tangled in her auburn curls suspending her corpse from the top most branch of the big oak tree the still open box falls to the ground with his ever-rolling tears the ring bounces out of it's case he sinks to his knees at her feet his grip on the rose loosens "i'm sorry...." he whispers painfully each move feels like a thousand knives stabbing him "no..." he cries in hush to his dead lover and now as punishment for not seeing through her mask of fake happiness he watches the still warm crimson blood flowing from her slashed wrists and the unnatural angle of her neck he lowers his eyes from the painful sight to the cold ground where they fall upon a small folded piece of paper beneath her feet scattered with drops of blood his numb fingers gently pick it up and unfold it 'don't follow me. live my love." it reads only 'no' floats to his mind his eyes and hands shoot upwards towards her right wrist where the small knife is still embedded he slowly pulls it out against the suction of her veins determination in his swollen eyes his breath rugged he rolls the horrid piece of metal in his hand creating small nicks on his rough fingers little red dots appear tears of anger begin to flow with those of sadness then he closes his eyes places the blade at his neck and takes a deep breath knowing that it is his last
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