Following Alice Down The Rabbit Hole
Dead memories screamed, cloying the grey air. Happy Valentines he’d said. She laughed without feeling. The fairground was empty.
Her fingers ran over the decaying ponies, their merry heads loosed from their bodies. They were still laughing in silent agony where once children had patted their painted muzzles. We hadn’t been to the scene of that crime in years, but you always come back to your first.
I smiled and sat on one of the teacups. It had been dislodged from the ride, discarded in a pathway strangled with weeds and spilled rust.
Red rust. Like blood.
She skipped, ballet flats kicking up slack stones. I unclenched the tie from my throat, peeling the moustache from my upper lip. The gun hugged close in the waist of my jeans. I could taste her lip gloss on my mouth.
The tux was her idea. They were mostly her ideas.
Her short skirt rippled in the dim sun watching slyly behind grey glasses. Nobody could take their eyes off her.
Nor could he. And that couldn’t be.
She’d asked me to get rid of him, giggling in the appropriate places and touching in just the right way. She always did that. Always got what she wanted.
He’d made a pretty red pattern on the bed linen.
We could have ripped his throat out and fed on him. But it seemed better to kill him the human way.
Our mothers had always commented that we’d been uncommonly close, even for supernaturals in the mundane. But they didn’t understand our love. No one could.
He’d looked so surprised when he realised…
When he realised his girlfriend’s ‘brother’ was a soft bodied sociopath who followed her lover’s bidding with no thought of remorse. And that’s what I told him when he asked why.
For her love…
Check back next Saturday for the last #DearValentine post and don’t forget to check out the other entries!
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