I withhold tears as I peer into the furious blue eyes of my runaway lover. His rugged, masculine body is chained to the behemothian memorial stone of a literary legend, yet his murderous vows continue to escape effortlessly. I murmur wryly as I brush my fingers across his exposed nipples and entertain an intense bombardment of blissful necrophilia fantasies.
“What a waste all of this is… I am breaking off another physical relationship and degrading a historical artifact simultaneously. Where did we go wrong, Ed? Why are you acting like such a monumental tosser!?”
Edwin manages a miserable chuckle as he processes my words. The all consuming malevolence in his eyes temporarily envelops me before he sarcastically answers my question with another blooming question!
“I don’t know, Maxwell! What do you think set me off?”
The leaves of the weeping willows blow in the ferocious wind around us as the horde of obsessed apparitions I have been dealt emerge from beyond the gallery of rotting bark to share in my boyfriend’s cruel laughter. I cannot endure this infuriating sound much longer. I have never been grand at handling loss, however, there is no sensation more agonizing than becoming the butt of your loved one’s jokes. I plunge a serrated blade into the tactless fool’s abdomen and begin my interrogation anew.
“Are you done, honey? ‘Cause I was quite serious about you answering that bloody question! Now, I know I have played the part of the quick-witted cheerleader in our relationship thus far, but I assure you that my character has switched! Who am I now, you ask? Why, you may call me Samael, the angel of death! Of course, the lame-stream media merely knows me by the horrifically bland title of ‘the graveyard rapist!’ At least I am visible, yet one still yearns to be understood! I mean, ‘graveyard rapist!?’ That’s not even what I do! Christ! Those pigs are truly lost if they have not ascertained the nature of my artistic services by now. Regardless, this is neither here nor there! It is time for you to provide me with an answer to my very simple question. Where did we go wrong, Edwin Brooks? Explain to me why we are having this ridiculous falling out. Should I thank Trisha? We were merely watching a movie together. Surely you must understand that I am not the sort of man who would initiate an affair with his maid.”
Edwin slowly opens his mouth to speak, however, his speech is abruptly overwhelmed by hysterical sobbing. It seems that the reality of the situation has finally dawned upon him. This volatile stage of our romance is over. He is soon going to join my realm of loving memories. This bitter-sweet truth is inevitable.
I politely wait for him to regain his sense of calm and flash him a honeyed smile in the hopes of hurrying the tedious process along. Eventually Edwin’s repulsive montage of blubbering comes to an end. There is an unnerving moment of silence before he shuts his tired eyes and assists my frantic investigation with a disturbingly compassionate whisper.
“Mrs Trisha wasn’t watching the film with you, Max. You were the only one on the couch. Don’t
you remember? Think, where is Mrs Trisha? What did she do?”
The wrathful spirits of the forest begin their assault on me once more and I stumble back from my weeping accuser, swatting at their blackened ethereal forms with an army of soaring death scythes. Exhausted from the strain of battle, I collapse to the ground and my prejudiced enemies dissipate from this world, leaving me to endure the confused shrieks of my deranged lover. I respond to his growing madness with a series of stern bellows.
“Then where was she, Ed!? If Trisha wasn’t watching Oceans 11 with me, then where exactly did she run off to!? What did we do to deserve your sadistic tirade?”
The wind ceases to terrorize the willows and my lover’s eyelids part once more to reveal two gorgeous sea blue irises. I observe the borderline unadulterated tranquility behind them and realize that he is already excruciatingly close to death. I suppose I did a lot more damage with that abdomen shot than I had expected. Death doesn’t usually come this quickly when I choose that target. My passion must have rendered my aim clumsy. Shit! The horrific thought of being denied closure suddenly dashes through my mind. I propel my fists into Edwin’s cheeks, but there is no response. My mind immediately jumps into a state of absolute panic. Is he dead? No! It’s too soon! He can’t be reborn yet! It can’t be over! I need this to end! I demand it!
I quickly humble myself before Edwin’s limp form and shriek a barrage of inquiries into his sweat-soaked ears.
“What did Mrs Trisha do!? What the hell did she do!? Why am I doing this!? Tell me! Why am I killing you, Edwin!? Where is Mrs Trisha!?”
I patiently await a response from the immaculate body suspended before me, however, the only voice that speaks to me is the gentle whisper of the wind. It can’t be helped. It’s over. He is done. I giggle hysterically as this realization settles in the bowels of my tumultuous mind.
“We are done, Ed! We’re simply done!” My laughter intensifies as this sorrowful proclamation escapes me. What am I to do? He cannot return if his story lacks a conclusion! Our life together in that sea of radiant memories will not survive with this revolting pest in the back of my head! Can it truly just be over? No! There must be more! What happened to us!? How did we get here!?
I rip the blade from Edwin’s gut and shove it into the depths of his skull, begging for an answer to the acidic question that would eternally plague me.
“Where in the name of Christ is Mrs Trisha!?”
literally stories 
Weird, if only from a sadistic sense. I’m not sure I understand what this is about. Anyway, the writing is strong. Well done. Des
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Thanks Des – yes we thought this one was rather “different” but we are trying to publish as wide a range of stuff as possible.
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Twisted, dark and frightening. Well done.
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Thanks for the comments, everybody!
Desmond, I actually wanted people to be confused after reading this. There is no sense of closure or an explanation for Maxwell and I wanted the readers to feel the same way that he felt. Where is Mrs Trisha? What does she have to do with any of this? You’ll never know. He is also hallucinating through a bit of this. I wondered if I should make some distinction between the hallucinations and reality, but I decided against that as well. I just hoped that the reader could tell when he was hallucinating. This is purely from Maxwell’s perspective. That is why Edwin is said to be descending into madness and not Maxwell. That’s why this story is so insane.
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Awwwwwww! It’s hard to comment when you’ve got a knife in my throat. June
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When I initially read this the word “bonkers” was the first thing that popped into my head. That word remains but it’s a positive rather than a negative! Great writing and far from an everyday story. Enjoyed this very much. Cheers, Nik
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Hi W.D, I loved this strange offering from the first moment I read it. The story stayed with me and I couldn’t help myself thinking about a back story and a conclusion. You gave the reader more than enough for their imaginations to run wild. I also thought that the quality of your writing was exceptional.
Hugh
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I can’t see what you are trying to achieve here WD. I can’t find much to say that’s positive but one of the purposes of LS2014 is to elicit discussion, so here goes.
Is this story intended to be surreal? Is it ironic or experimental?
Why give us some bizarre situation, with a tiny bit of background, and throw up questions we have no hope of answering? The point of mystery stories, for example, is to give clues so that elements can be pieced together. Blind alleys, red herrings and twists give the reader the opportunity to engage with the story. I’m sorry to report that for this reader Mrs Trisha’s whereabouts was extraneous and the rest uninteresting.
That said, with your evident ability to write clearly and set a scene, there’s every chance I will enjoy other examples of your writing in the future!
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It was meant to show the anguish that accompanies a lack of closure and that sometimes you are forced to search for the answers yourselves. It is meant to be the horror of an answerless question… not the comfort of an answer. It is meant to show Maxwell’s pain as he realizes that he will never have closure. I am sorry that you didn’t like it, but if I gave you any answers, that would strip away the point of the piece.
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