I could hear each heartbeat grow fainter and as the time dragged on, the rhythm grew slower till it was silent. Dead. Her body lay in my hands. “Why?” I wanted to scream, but I knew why. I’d felt her temperature drop while I stood there, helpless. I saw it happen. She was gone now, gone forever.
The police would come soon, but her body would be gone. Even if they saw her, they wouldn’t recognize her. She didn’t look like who she was because she wasn’t. She’d never been who everyone else thought she was. The world never saw her for what she was, they wouldn’t have wanted to either. They didn’t know about the things she’d done while everyone was asleep. She would just be another “victim” in their eyes, but I knew better. I used to have her job.
She’d been drunk when the blade entered her delicate skin and into her back. It had been a small one, a pocket knife with all sorts of gadgets. I remember her writhing in pain and calling out to me, “Help me.” but I hadn’t helped, I’d just stood their idly. The iron had made her remember; it made all of us remember. She’d recalled the dark images of death and bodies pale and white, drained of blood. She’d remembered her masterpiece.
The King wouldn’t care for her death. She’d given him what he needed and more. For all he cared, she was just another fae in his eyes. Fifty humans slain, blood given without the remains, she’d given him seventy three. The blood had satisfied his thirst, like water is to humans. It’d satisfied the thirst of all in his court.
Humans were nothing in their eyes, lesser beings. She couldn’t see that they were truly equals either; she’d refused to stop. She’d killed a child in front of its mother before murdering the mother too. It’d been hard to make the choice I had. She’d loved me with a passionate fervor. She was my other half, but she had to be stopped. I had no choice. A warm embrace ended with a slash in the back. The crimson stain on her red satin dress was still barely visible, but the blood was hardening and the stain was becoming more vivid.
Her beautiful skin was changing colour now. Minty green, it was so fragile looking. Her lips were the lightest shade of blue and imprints of blue vines were appearing on her skin, wrapping around her arms. She looked peaceful. There was no trace of the killer she once was. I kissed her one last time, my lips lingering on her cold, hard, unresponsive ones, and left without glancing back.
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140,788 Literary Works • 673,688 Reviews
Hey there,
The beginning felt a little rocky to me (beginnings are so hard some times, aren't they?) but like Duskglimmer said, it smoothed out nicely. Dustglimmer covered this really well, so all I'm going to say is wow, really nice job. It wasn't sappy and overemotional but was still a powerful and conflicting piece that really made me feel something. Keep writing.
Hey crescent,
I really enjoyed reading this. It took a little while to get moving smoothly, but by the time it ended, I really wished it had been longer. The ending line was terrific. I really like the image of this person walking away and never looking back, even though he loved the girl. It was very emotional without being over the top.
A few comments:
Wanting to scream, "why" seems a very natural reaction, but the next line doesn't seem to fit here. Her temperature drop has nothing to do with why she died. I would suggest either a paragraph break here, or a line in between that actually gives a little of the reason why someone killed her. We know later that she is a murderer. Did someone kill her as revenge? Did someone kill her because they were paid to? You don't have to spell it out here, but a hint would be nice.
What would make her difficult to ID? Has she changed her face somehow? Has she just left a very convuluted paper trail with several assumed identities? Give more details.
This is a very awkward sentence. It doesn't really give us any new information either.
This is a good way to introduce us to her vocation, but I'm not entirely sure that it fits well with the idea of IDing a dead body. Police spend a lot of time looking at criminals and seeing exactly what they are. I'm not sure that they really equate with "the world" which would rather not think about murderers and criminals in thier midst.
Why not? What kept the narrator from helping her? If he was nearby and could hear her, and loved her and later wants to scream at the sky to ask why, why wouldn't he help her? This doesn't seem to make sense to me.
Who is "us"? Other assassins? And what exactly are they remembering? Are they remembering what she's done? Or what they themselves have done? This is a line that could be greatly expanded. It seems to hint at the narrators life, and could give us so much information about him. Having more information here could turn the story from a focus on the dead girl, to a wider, richer focus on both of them.
There's an abrupt switch here, from what I'd thought was realistic fiction to fantasy fiction. If you're going to write fantasy, make sure that it's fantasy from beginning to end. Make some mention of fae before this. Or describe the dead girl at the beginning and make it very clear that she's not human.
What choice? To love her? Or to kill her? Is the narrator human? He's already said that he held the same job as her, so what exactly is this hard choice he had to make about her. I thought I knew what was going, but I read it two different ways between my first reading and my second reading.
This is good.
How much of this is the change in her as she's dying, and how much of this is actually what she looks like as a fae? Without knowing what fae look like in this world, it's difficult to tell. A description of her somewhere before she's dead would be nice.
The phrasing here is awkward, mostly in ending the phrase with "ones".
Note to whatever Moderator may be passing by: I think this belongs in the Fantasy Short Story section. Maybe a Mod could move it there?