Welcome to the Bloody Valentine Horror Hop!
The place where Valentine’s Day is
celebrated with heartbreak, love gone wrong, romantic mayhem and tragedy, and
where you find out what happens when the rose petals die, the candy melts, and
lovers are looking for payback.
The bloggers that signed on are offering many delights in romantic misfortune, and you can check out
the full list at the end of this post.
First up, though, is my
contribution:
- A creepy little story about lingering too long in a relationship
- Some poetry — two poems written by me and another penned by special guest poet, Sean Theall
So read on…
Leaking Out
Drip,
drip, drip.
The sound dances with the sunbeams streaming through the
bedroom window. It’s a rhythm, a mind numbing vibration of liquid striking
metal. Such a strange sound to hear in the morning, the drip, drip, drip of the tap.
Or is it the tap?
Maybe it isn’t a leak. Maybe it’s something else. Blood flowing
through the veins of the house. Drip, drip, dripping someone’s life away. All oozing
out over the sink. Or the floor.
I wonder why I thought that?
I smell coffee.
I’m in the kitchen.
How did I get here? I’m not sure. My memory plays tricks these
days. Or maybe time is playing tricks. Either way, I’ve gotten used to it.
Mostly. But the dripping noise is gone. Maybe it never was. Maybe it was in my
head. Probably was. Too many things are in my head.
But I still smell coffee. And toast. He made breakfast. He
always made breakfast when we were first married. Or maybe I did. No, that’s
not true. He did. He was sweet in the beginning.
I don’t think he’s here anymore. I think he left. But I don’t
know why. Why would he leave? None of this feels right. All I know is the house
is empty. Shut up tight. It’s so quiet.
And there’s no breakfast on the table. Just dust.
We were happy.
I thought we were happy.
I must’ve been wrong.
Something must’ve been wrong.
Our happiness had cracks.
He didn’t love me.
Or he wouldn’t have… no, I won’t… he didn’t… couldn’t have…
he left me?
No.
I left?
Drip,
drip, drip.
I can hear it again. The wet noise.
It isn't coming from the kitchen. It sounds like it’s coming
from the bathroom.
But it may not be coming from anywhere, except my head. It’s
hard sometimes to know.
I’m standing outside the bathroom door now. But I was just
in the kitchen. Wasn’t I? I think I was. Maybe not.
I don’t want to be here. Why? Why do I want to run?
Something happened in there? I think it did. My hand is shaking.
I’m afraid.
But I can still hear the dripping.
I open the door.
The room is empty. A cheerless room.
I look down.
The stain’s still there. It’s been scrubbed and scrubbed,
but it wouldn’t come out of the tile. Where the blood dripped into the widening
pool of red. Bright, bright red. The stain’s more pink now.
It’s even kind of pretty. If I forget what made it.
Blood. Too much blood.
Painted on my memory. Scarlet and screaming, and all jumbled
with questions. Whys and how’s. I don’t have answers. I’m not sure I want
answers. I might not like them. I’d rather forget. I like it best when I don’t
remember it at all. Those are the best days.
But that’s not today. Today’s not a day when I don’t
remember.
Today I know what happened.
Someone died.
No, someone was murdered.
I remember.
My husband murdered me.
~*~
Though I Be
A Fool…
Though I be
a fool, I shall weep
for you, and
what will never stay,
my
fleeting, broken love so cheap.
Though I be
a fool, I shall weep.
And I
mourn, my grief wide and deep,
as the sun
dims, and clouds grow grey.
Though I be
a fool, I shall weep
for you,
and what will never stay.
~*~
Murmur’s
Echo
A fume of
glacial breath
beside you,
in the
graveyard
Ephemeral
vapors wafting,
far adrift
across the
moonlight
Prickles
teasing at your ear,
spinal
shivers
One voice
whispering
Stay with me…
Stay with me…
For Eternity
~*~
And Now For Our Guest Poet...
And Now For Our Guest Poet...
The Last
Commitment
Here my lovely
let us have one last meal.
one more
chance to be together and
tell you
how I feel.
Upon the
table in a vase
is a
half-life rose, this meeting
is to see
if we still have a pulse
and where
our future goes.
Steak or
chicken your personal
choice. recite your
order in
that sweet
tiny voice.
Trying to
get a emotional reading
from your
laugh and smile.
taking my
emotions placing
them on a
railroad track
with a
train coming, and
still
expect love back.
All you
really want is my
blood and
my heart, do away
with my
husk a brand new start.
Not to
mention the green
my leather
case. will this lunch
end in
death by broken vase?
I would
like to attempt to
beat you to
the punch, wanted
to see what
we could salvage
this was
the idea behind this
lunch.
It appears
we must take on
different
roles. I as the mongoose
and you as
the snake there is only
so much of
that hidden evil smile
I can take.
dancing around the
truth maybe
realizing too late
we can't
live under the same
roof.
One final
gesture from me
silently holding
my breath.
handing you
a glass of red wine
nervously
waiting for you to
take sip
and end our jointed
time.
Feeling
lightheaded or woozy
my angel?
let me put you to
bed. sleep
off your hangover
and fall
quickly to your death.
The
authorities will not suspect
a thing.
all they will see is
you
sleeping soundly in bed.
only I will
know the truth,
you are
finally gone;
stone cold
dead.
Copyright
2011
Sean C.
Theall
~*~
About the Hop, and the Blogger List
We also had a last minute entry not on the official list, but well worth the read:
