Prolonge
My life had been filled with nothing but anguish and self-loathing—an endless cycle of hollow routines and dark, meaningless rituals. Nothing ever brought me joy, sadness, or excitement. From the time I was young, all I had known was disappointment born from my own shortcomings. Yet, strangely, I didn't care.
I didn't care that there was nothing remarkable about me, nothing substantial to note, nothing that could bring me happiness or fulfillment. They called me a psychopath. I was too young to understand what that word truly meant—far too young to act upon the impulses that lurked beneath the surface. Perhaps it was because I feared disappointing my mother. She was never pleasant when she was upset. Or maybe I was simply too young to understand her emotions, just as I struggled to understand my own.
I felt nothing.
I enjoyed nothing.
I desired nothing.
I wandered through life with nothing to my name except the lingering thought that perhaps I would be better off dead.
That was before her.
She awakened something inside me—feelings I couldn't comprehend, let alone describe. Her sun-kissed skin, her distant gaze. Maybe it was the way her eyes seemed to see straight through people, sharp and unwavering. Maybe it was the way she smiled as if each smile might be her last.
She was perfect.
Every flaw only made her more beautiful. Her slightly crooked teeth, her uneven locs, the deep chocolate brown of her eyes—everything about her radiated a peace I had never known.
And yet, I could never be with her.
Her innocence. Her kindness. Even the subtle anxiety she carried so delicately. I was undeserving of all of it.
Looking at her felt like standing before a goddess and realizing I was nothing more than a grain of sand beneath the tide. She was vast, breathtaking, untouchable. I wanted her in a way I had never wanted anything before. I didn't want anyone else to see her, to admire her, to experience the warmth of her smile.
I wanted her all to myself.
I needed her.
But I knew I was unworthy.
A slow breath escaped my lips as I stared down at the corpse lying on the pavement.
The alley was dark and narrow, illuminated only by the faint glow of distant streetlights. Cockroaches skittered across the wet concrete as rain drizzled from the summer sky.
The woman at my feet was beautiful, even in death.
Her blonde hair clung to her pale skin, soaked by the rain. Her eyes, once full of life, now stared blankly into nothingness. A deep stab wound split her abdomen, blood pooling beneath her and winding its way through the cracks in the lonely street.
I loved the sight.
The stillness.
The silence.
The certainty.
My gaze lingered on her lifeless face, and a faint smile tugged at my lips.
Now, if only it were the object of my desires lying there instead.
What a beautiful sight that would be.
