"I remember wanting to die. To end my life there and then. There were so many things wrong at the time, that I never really saw the good. And I figured the best way to get out of it, was to kill myself. I didn't want to be there, I didn't want to be here, I just didn't want to be. Anything. Anyone. I just wanted Death to embrace me, to take all the pain away, to make me hollow. But, I didn't. Because I met...him."
|He became the beacon of light I so badly sought, the breath that would keep me going. He became my everything. And I guess that's why I killed him. Emotionally at first; he always said I would be his fixer upper. That a**," she swore in a hushed tone, taking another drag of her cigarette and savouring the flavour of the smokey demon. I waited for her to let out her breath, knowing the sensation all too well. "I started slipping back into my hateful self; lost my job, lost my car, always bummed smokes and liquor off him, and that's all I did. Drink and smoke. All day. Everyday. For months! I started sleeping all the time, the house was a mess, but still he stayed. It irritated me how optimistic he was, saying everything was going to be fine once I found a job. I guess he was just trying to convince himself as much as me."
"After all that, I think it was around six to seven months total, I started becoming angry. At everything. At everyone. At him. Of course, I was drunk, but you know 'a drunken's mans speech, is a sober mans thoughts! He came home from work one night, very late and reeking of alcohol, too. It actually made me almost vomit. It was that bad. Anyways, he stumbled over to me and almost fell on me. I pushed him. He fell backwards and before I could do anything he hit his head on the coffee table."
"Is that how you killed him?" I asked eagerly, leaning forward slightly in my seat.
She smiled crookedly and shook her head, taking another drag; a short one this time. "No, that was just the first time I realized I had tried," she said, pushing the butt of the cigarette into the ashtray in front of her, reaching for her pack to begin again. "See, after that, I actually started to try. Pushed him down the stairs, claiming the step was off and I tripped. I'd apologize, of course, but I never really meant it. I mean, I didn't want to kill someone, but I needed him to die. Just everything about him irritated me and I didn't want him to irritate anyone else."
"You figured you were helping?"
"Sort of. A part of me knew it was wrong, but a part of me, a much stronger part, pushed me onward. The dark part, the one that had disappeared during the early stages of our relationship."
"But, you don't seem like someone who would do such a thing!" my exclamation ringing through the small room. I fingered the hem of my skirt nervously, not one to usually shout out of turn.
"Meds, honey. Three times a day, everyday. Kind of annoying, but these other people need help more than I do, so I'm not gonna," she said and threw a devilish smile my way. I couldn't help but blush. "Bipolar and split-personality can be one hell of a b***h!" She took a drag of her new cigarette and let out a short, but soft moan, extending the length as her exhale. Again, I blushed. She was an attractive woman, and I was just newly experiencing my new sexuality.
"So, what happened after?" I urged, deciding it was time to get back to business.
"Well, let me see, the last time I tried to kill him was..." she paused to think, "about four months ago? That seems right. I stole a gun from that little gun shop in town, on the corner of um...s**t, what's it called?..."
"Yeah, I know the one," I said, dismissing it; wasn't important anyways.
She raised her eyebrow towards me, but continued. "A little nine mill. Broke in at night, smashed the glass, I'm sure you saw the report? My little job home was my attempt at getting him, building the adrenaline, knowing I was going to put the world out of their misery from him. How can anybody be that bloody happy all the time? Drove me insane!" She took another drag; this one angry, and smashed the other half of this butt into the tray and started again. Chain smoking. "I got home, ran up the stairs where he was asleep, and pointed the gun in his face. His sweet, gentle face, asleep on the bed we had called ours for two years. I couldn't pull the trigger. That small, other side of me pulled me away, back downstairs to stand in the kitchen. I could only stare at the gun, openly mocking me like I was some kind of school child. I got angry again, grabbed the gun, and pushed the 'good' little side of me away. Up the stairs. It felt like they were taking forever. Up one, then the other. I didn't realize it was me that was going slow."
"My two selves were fighting with each other, almost to the point where I could have physically been two people. My darker side one though. It was easier to pull the trigger than I had thought it would be, or maybe time just happened to catch up with me. The long trek was worth it though, because I came to a realization: I wasn't really trying to kill him, I was trying to kill myself. Again. Like I had wanted in the first place."
My mouth dropped slightly. Wow. That was deep! I shook my head in confusion, cocking it to the side to give a silent inquiry. She didn't miss it.
"He was everything I used to be. Everything I wasn't. Everything I wanted to be. I realized, after he was already dead, that I was going to die from this either way. I had killed my lover and the only happiness I had and in essence killed myself, so I would wither from that realization. Or, as you can see, I'll get caught before that can happen and end up in a mental hospital before I get the death sentence. I didn't move from that spot, even when the police busted down the door. Neighbour heard the gun shot and called, I guess. Never did find out. Doesn't matter now."
A nurse walked in then and, with a solemn face, turned to me, "She'll be needing to go now. C'mon miss, I'll lead you out."
"Wait," I held up my hands in protest and turned back to my interviewee, "so you're telling me this was your entire plan. The whole time?"
She only smiled at me and waved using her fingertips, taking a drag as she did so. The smile that caressed her face was one of pure joy, a real smile that only happiness could cause. I left, that smile still imprinted in my mind, my head to the ground as I followed the nurse. I contemplated what she had said for a little too long, because the nurse coughed lightly to get my attention. We were there. There were a few people, but nothing significant. Nobody wanted to see her on the table. Lethal injection. The ones that were there: lawyers, a doctor, and me. The timid journalist.
They led her in, the smile still on her face. There even seemed to be a small skip to her step. I couldn't help but grimace. It was so dark, but I felt sort of happy for her. They got her ready on the table. "Do you have any last words?" they asked her.
She turned her head, the smile still there, as she looked through the window. It seemed like she was looking at me. "I remember wanting to die. To end my life there and then. There were so many things wrong at the time, that I never really saw the good. And I figured the best way to get out of it, was to kill myself. I didn't want to be there, I didn't want to be here, I just didn't want to be. Anything. Anyone. I just wanted Death to embrace me, to take all the pain away, to make me hollow. But, I didn't. Because I met...him."
I closed my eyes.
Phoebe Majere Community Member 
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