Your Turn

Funny thing about death. All those feelings, the kind that can fill your heart with an explosive joy, or the kind that can leave you up at night, wide-eyed and tormented...they're gone. I can barely recall how you did it; a jolt of anger, a sprinkle of fear, is all that remains in the memory of my murder. 

I'm left with a feeling of neutrality. I feel peace, and I feel whole. I feel nothing as I stare at you, and at her. I feel no anger, no sadness, no jealousy. You laugh together in disbelief, hardly able to fathom that you actually got away with it all. Believe me, I'm baffled too; I certainly never thought you were smart enough to pull this off. 

I relish in my moments of self-actualization, as you and she partake in a heated passion. A human life for a moment of sexual ecstasy? I'm bored. 

I'd like to think I'm being self-less, but perhaps I'm being vengeful. It certainly doesn't feel like that though. I stare at you both, moving closer and closer until I'm right in front of your face, and it's in that moment, that one brief moment, that for the first time in my life, I think you actually see me, as your eyes fill with terror. I smile as your last breath escapes your mouth, and her shrieks echo through out the hotel suite. 

It's your turn.