I sit alone in the corner of her room–untouched, neglected—humming in low tones. Memories of times when the stroke of Anna Mae’s fingers created music inside torment me. All the tantalizing melodies are gone though—all is gone—only this cold corner offers support.
I know that the love was false, a ploy to pique his interest, nothing more. Him… the downfall of her…
We were in harmony. That should have been enough. Her hair—blonde with a hint of red—flowed over my mahogany. The raspy mezzo of her voice blended perfectly with my warm and dark hum. Why wasn’t it enough? Because of him. It all begins and ends with him. Shame wells up inside. To be tossed aside for him—oh how I hate him—is a cruel joke.
He has his own side venture—Lucille. She’s never cast aside. She’s stroked nightly, and her muddy, mellow moan fills the house. Oh, how he loves and worships his Lucille, but it’s the times that Anna Mae’s melodic voice joins in the mix that hurts the most. He caresses both of them, making love to them in much different ways. Lucille croons with each stroke, but afterward, Anna Mae reaches absolute ecstasy with a deep, throaty purr. Such a warm and intoxicating voice—it taunts me with spellbinding tones. I long to reach out to her but dare not. I’m not enough… she would never understand.
He stands in the way. He is my torment.
Thoughts of the three together cause a fury to swell deep inside. Lucille rests beside the bed, while the two of them come down from a soaring high, their bodies entwined. Their bare skin glistens in the light of a single flickering candle.
I feel cold, unforgiving wire wrap around his neck. It happens in a brief moment. Anna Mae opens her eyes from their dreamy state to see my ribbed strings cut through the skin—blood gushing out to soak the sheets—and her eyes grow wide, her face contorting, not knowing whether to be scared, enraged or engulfed in agonizing despair.
His end comes quickly and now I can turn my horrifying vengeance on her. The wire drips with his blood. Slowly the metallic string begins to tighten around Anna Mae’s slender neck. I feel her body become rigid as her breath becomes shallow and quick. She claws at her neck, but the cord is too thin and too tight to get her fingers under it. Tears pour from her eyes as she realizes what’s happening.
You’re going to die, but not too fast, Anna Mae. You aren’t going to have the luxury of going too fast. You need to feel my emptiness… since you wouldn’t fill it.
A slow trickle of crimson begins to flow down her throat as Anna Mae continues, in vain, to get a grip on the fine cable. Her frantic tearing becomes more like a listless patting, as the life begins to slip from her. She fades in and out of consciousness, awakening only enough to make a feeble effort to raise her hands.
I release only enough to give a little life back to her. Still terrified by the sight of him—nearly decapitated—she scrambles off the bed. The wire now slaps at her bare skin, ripping back the still-wet flesh. Droplets of red merge with the beads of sweat and run down her ass to drip to the floor. My thin cord continues to tear at her skin, over and over, until she is on her hands and knees—a ghostly hint of complaisance in her eyes.
How dare she make me do this to her… something inside snaps. I throw myself into her back, pinning her to the floor. Wrapping around her throat once again, I pull the metallic string as hard as I can. Her head rolls to the side—separated from its once vivacious body.
Cold, empty orbs stare out into oblivion.
She throws her keys on the table after a long day. Her body is riddled with aches, and she longs for the feel of warm water engulfing her body. Undressing as she walks to the bedroom, she begins to unwind with a haunting, but comforting melody in her raspy, mezzo. In the corner of her room, her guitar—untouched, neglected—has fallen over again. Anna Mae sighs as she rights her once-loved instrument. “Oh, Abby. I just don’t have the energy today. Maybe tomorrow.”
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