just an insert from one of the novels i'm working on:
My hands were red. I've never seen much blood outside the film screen. I should be nauseous, scared. I was enlightened, high. My heart racing with delight. I couldn't keep my eyes of of it, her. It was warm like a bundle of wool blankets on the coldest night of winter. A puddle of wine kicked over by mother stumbling over too reach the blaring sound of the telephone that never rang. She looked up at me, mouth wide in shock. Almost erotic the way her lip quivered though her heart had already stopped beating. It was so silent here except for the curious rodents coming to investigate in hopes i'd leaver her here and they could indulge in midnight feast. Sometimes i feel tired of holding her hand but i couldn't let go. she was now a part of me. eyes glazed maybe from earlier drinks, maybe not. This is my first dead body. i've seen frozen animals, and tortured the house pets of those who annoyed me. but nothing was as real as touching the cool skin of one you erased. The alley shined red making the aura around us seem pink like a graphic novel come to life. She was dressed for success not a business woman not a dancer. Probably bored to death..death...in an office the way her hair ended in a tight bun, just trickles of hair grazing her face. Brunette, ageing gracefully but faster than she intended. She was porcelain now, losing the rosey cheeks she may have been known for. I waited until she was completely cold. i didn't know what to do with her.
Did i leave her here to rot? or
take her home and show her what her life could have been like?
Maybe this is what they call a conscience?
maybe not?
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