Color

A husband has reoccurring dreams of himself murdering his wife. O, such dreams can turn any man crazy.

Incessant dreams of her blood running down the handle.
One may consider this "dream" as a nightmare, but I assure you, it was no nightmare;
A dream is nothing more than an emotion or thought that contains an absence of reality.
O how terrible yet splendid
Were the reoccurring dreams of your lifeless body on the floor.
Such madness tends to distort fact from fiction.
But these dreams seemed so convincing,
So convincing that I was able to smell the sulfuric stench of her blood.
That putrid smell crawling & crawling up to my nostril tips,
Then slowly ascending through my nasal cavity,
And, finally, expanding throughout my entire body.
What a liberating smell it is.

My short intervals of grasping reality terrified me;
They reminded me of how I had become a slave to this insanity,
So I am letting go of this diminutive grasp that exsistence has positioned on me.
This liberation would be best accomplished once sleep has oppressed her.
O how beautiful she was.
So undeserving & perfect; she was an angel in the purest form.
But what sort of creature would take the life of an angel?
Standing over her peaceful body, my heart rate began to rapidly increase.
The beating of my heart became so torrential,
I thought it may smash through my chest.
How did this not wake her??
Bu suddenly, as if subjected by an outside force, I forcefully planted the knife in her chest.
Her chest rose to the brim of the handle, yet I was not satisfied;
I began viciously hacking away at my angel-a shower of blood filled the room.
As the artist has a purpose for every mark,
So did each dripping line of blood that ran along these tan walls seem intentional.
It was art in the purest form.
The knife was my brush, and her body was the canvas.
Now Blanketed in blood and gasping for air,
I stood over her beautifully painted body and was struck by an undeniable truth:
Red was always her color.

Author's Note

I appreciate any type of criticism, so be blunt if you must.

Reviews

[Jonah Butler]

My dearest thanks, Savannah. Poe was one of the first prominent writers that I became interested in, so I suppose it is only logical for some of his style and tone to be found in my writing.

[S. Georgia]

I liked this, very E. A. Poe-esque to me. Lovely imagery.

I especially liked the lines; "So undeserving & perfect; she was an angel in the purest form.
But what sort of creature would take the life of an angel?" and "I stood over her beautifully painted body and was struck by an undeniable truth: Red was always her color."

Very good,

-S.