They found her dangling from the ceiling of her room, legs lifeless and withered, head bent, her greasy dark hair hanging over her bloody neck and face like a shadowy curtain. They said she was wearing her favorite shirt - the expensive red blouse she wore on her birthday, and her shortest black miniskirt, feet wrapped in the embrace of gleaming stiletto heels.
It would have been a beautiful sight, if not for the noose tangled around her blue-tinged neck and the haunting reminder that her eyes would never close again; that they would always remain cold and empty, lingering like the lines of night and day, the blur between reality and illusion.
She was dead, and death is not often surrounded with an air of romance and star-soaked illusions.
And yet, it was almost as if she had wanted her death to be a celebration.
YOU ARE READING
DEAD GIRLS ARE PRETTIER
Mystery / Thrillerwhen pretty girls from pretty towns drop dead like puppets with broken strings, someone is bound to notice.
