Let's Play a Game

It shouldn't have have happened, not like this. He slid down against the now red wall, bringing his hands to his face. The lifeless body stared back at him, its body decorated with the deepest shade of red only a human life can offer. You would think he would feel remorse, pain, grief. Panic? But no. He laughed into his hands. Like you would when watching a funny video. It was her fault anyways. When someone tells you to leave the letter, you leave it. Would you? Knowing your life is at the hands of a sociopath, he is certain you would. But no. She just wouldn't listen. In a game, you follow the rules, or else you are deemed a cheater. No one likes cheaters. He stood up, walking to the shower and cleaning the blood away, the red turning to pink and going down the drain. She remained motionless. He was reminded of Tommy, the adorable kid whom he saw in the park playing with his mother, so full of life. He hated it. He cleans the bathroom with precision, humming a soft tune, a song he used to calm Tommy down when he missed his mother or when he cried uncontrollably, as the eyes continued to follow him, probably to make sure he doesn't steal anything. The bleach burned his eyes, but he didn't mind the pain. After finishing, he goes to the tub where the body laid, her eyes still watching him. He didn't like when people stared. Do you? No, right?

I watched her casket get lowered into the deep abyss. The people crying didn't help as I recalled the way she died, her internal organs and eyes nowhere to be found. I bit down a gag. The environment was enough to make me uncomfortable, knowing that these people were the ones who soiled her memory, blaming her for losing her child in the park over 2 years ago. It was a normal day like always, nothing new except his bike he got for his birthday. She was there to celebrate, laughing at his unwillingness to try again. She didn't deserve to die this way. With no word of her missing child, a single mother trying to create a better environment for her him, but to no avail. I dried my tears as I left before the priest could utter another word. I got into my car, a white minivan that was parked quite close to the graveyard. I shut the door closed, locked it and took a deep breath. In return, a frustrated scream escaped my lips. The water escaped my eyes and they fell uncontrollably, until I was suffocating in my own grief. I hit the horn of my car and placed my hands on my head, breathing in and out. I just wanted to go home, forget this day happened and try to get on with my life. Drying my eyes, I wiped the makeup from my face with makeup wipes, my eyes and nose red and started the car. It was a quick 15 minute drive, driving in silence and agony. I lived in an apartment complex, six flights up. I parked in the garage and used the elevator to go to the front desk. "Oh, Monica, just the person I was waiting for. You're package came in and... this letter." He handed me both and offered a small smile, going back to watching his sitcoms. "Thank you," I replied, my eyes lingering on the blank letter with only my name on it. I recently ordered a frame for a picture I took with her when we graduated college. How young, carefree, and happy we were. Ironically whilst still in school. I went on the elevator to the sixth floor and got out right as the doors opened. The apartment itself was alright, not too shabby but also not luxurious. I felt uneasy. Probably from today but I learned better than to not trust my instincts. I took out my keys in front of my door, but when I opened it it was still locked. Was my door opened? Anybody living in an apartment knows you have to remember to keep your door locked, always. I unlocked it and entered quickly, locking the door back up. I left the package of the floor as I removed my heels, keeping the letter in my hand. I turned on the lights, but the room remained dark. I walked carefully to my room, lighting the candle I hand in times like these. I sat on my desk and examined the letter, opening the flap where writing in deep red ink was. "DON'T READ IT." I sat there, flabbergasted. You send a letter with the intention of having the other person read it. Who would send something like this? The curiosity got the better of me and I pulled out the paper inside, along with photo cards. My eyes widened in realization. It was him, the son she lost, Tommy. I began to cry as another one displayed him playing in the park. I looked closely and noticed the angle these were taken in. It was far away and blurred by leaves as if the person taking the picture was hiding. I didn't like the queasiness it made me feel. When she reported it, there was no lead to go by, not even a person. The next picture made my heart drop. "What the hell..." My hands shook as I saw him crying in a van. I heard something fall behind me and I flinched. I turned and saw my window opened. I went to close it, struggling because I was confused and devastated. Who would send me this after she died? On the far right of my desk sat a familiar picture. "No..." It was a picture of my desk. I sifted through the picture and screamed when I came across one of her, Samantha, in her tub filled with her blood. I dropped it and took the letter and opened it. "No one likes cheaters." I didn't have time to think before hands wrapped around my nose and mouth. I struggled, kicking and moving hysterically. I was losing air. I was dying. I couldn't even fight back before I saw black spots and heard his voice drifting away. "I told you not to read it."