Sometime I dream about holding a knife in my hands.
A person all too familier is lying dead on the floor in front of me; her blood pooling around her, flowing from a gaping wound in her torso. I look at the knife in my hand and see crimson blood dripping off the blade and on the to the floor.
Drip ... Drip ... Drip.
I remember Lara saying one thing too many.
I remember reaching for the steak knife left on the kitchen bench.
I remember her warm blood on my fingers as I ran her through, and I remember her body go cold as the life left her eyes.
I remember killing my sister.
I look at her body and feel nothing; sadness, guilt, triumph, anger have no place in my heart right now. I feel numb but free. For that brief moment I feel all my worries gone.
But like in all dreams I have to wake up to face the world and the person that makes me hate my life.
YOU ARE READING
Falling Inside the Black
Short StoryShort stories about the things that go in inside my head and how I think. This is really just me venting my emotions so some of it might not make sence and be dark and morbid but some times there will be a few good times in here.
