Blue Roses

Short Story

The smell of the roses lifted to my nose as the dirt pebbles then fell onto my face. Screaming was useless no one could hear me, my body was stiff yet my neutrons was still firing in my beaten skull. Warm liquid was running in lines down my twisted arm, a rush of air tickled my toes, I realized my left shoe was off it must have fallen off. The fabric of my torn dress hung on my body dirty, bloody and ripped to pieces. I think I'm dead the blonde killer had killed me. I remember the metal shovel hitting the back of my skull and the knife plunging into my back, it wasn't like a knife into butter, no this ripped oven veins, skin and my tissue. I could feel it, the blazing hot pain going into me. Yet, I don't know in what order these events took place, the movie playing behind my eyelids, the scenes are scrambled and mixed, the lead role is confused, scared no terrified, the killer is laughing, crying, smiles and lifts a blue rose to the camera and she took it, the lead role the main character she took the rose in her hand to smell it. The scene blackens and the present occurs now the dirt weighing heavy on my body, the pain ripples through it like tremors. I wonder if he knew that I could think and feel, suffocation is next to come, yet I'm calm and at peace the pain slowly numbing, the wind no longer lingering on my toes, and smell of the roses have been pressed out of existence by the smell of dirt and the taste of it. Johnny, The Blonde Killer, I could feel the vibrations above ground. I dreamed of all the blue roses he had given to me and then a black void filled my brain expanding around my broken skull until I felt like I was floating then....................