Dying

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The rotting flesh bleeds 3

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Torn up by the chirping birds; 6

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Gone is the buzzing 9

Of the bees on the flowers 10

Tasting the heart of the corpse11

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Sometimes, no one really knows why people die; sometimes it’s a mystery. Sometimes, it’s a freak accident, or an innocent bystander. Sometimes people kill others for no reason at all; sometimes it’s something stupid. And sometimes, the person is just so twisted and psychotic, they kill just because. 13

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It was a little town, quaint and lovable. Everyone knew everyone else; it was a pleasant place to live. The diner on the corner, appropriately named Bert’s Corner Diner, was where everyone gathered to be sociable. There were no secrets here and the atmosphere was amiable. Snow was gently falling on the quiet streets; cars slowly ambled past, as though no one was in any great hurry to get anywhere. Outside of town on a lonely old, gravel road, there was someone living there who had a secret. It was a dark secret no one knew, no one at all. 16

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Vivian Lancaster stood at her kitchen window, watching the snow swirl onto the ground. She was quite peaceful, loving every snowflake that fell. She was thirty-two years old, and looked twenty-five. She was slender and petit, only 5’3”. She had almond-shaped blue eyes, a small nose and small lips. Her hair was golden blonde. She was so beautiful and pleasant that no one would ever guess her secret.19

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Vivian worked at Bert’s Corner Diner; she was a waitress who knew almost everyone that came through. The only time she didn’t know someone was if they were someone else’s relative, or if they were just passing through. Someone just passing through was rare enough, since they were twenty miles in from the interstate, in the middle of nowhere. Even so, Vivian was always affable towards any visitor to the diner. Today was her only off of the week, Saturday, and she was spending it watching the snow fall. But not for long, she thought with a smile, and headed down to her cellar. She flipped on the light and wrapped her sweater around herself tighter, slightly shivering.22

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There he is, she thought with a grin. She spent a moment studying him. He was certainly more handsome than some of her recent catches, most definitely. He was muscular and tall, lovely. He had dark hair; dark eyes, and was oh so sexy. He was wearing nothing except for his boxers. She walked quietly to the edge of the bed and straddled his waist, scratching his chest with her long fingernails. He groaned with pain, and Vivian laughed. It was a soft chuckle, and by the way it sounded, no one would guess that she was about to torture a man to death.25

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She’d gotten him when she’d invited him to dinner at her place one night after work. He’d been passing through on his way to a business convention in another town about an hour away. What handsome man turned down dinner with a gorgeous woman?28

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She hopped off and walked over to the stereo, turning on some angry rock music, Kittie. She got her tools and laid them out next to the bed.30

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“What the fuck is wrong with you lady?!” He screamed, seeming to know what she was going to do, even though he couldn’t see through the blindfold.33

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She clucked with her tongue. “Now now, there’s no reason to talk like that, is there? You should mind your manners with a lady present.” She grinned, scanning his already scarred chest. She’d had him for about two weeks now, and had already inflicted much damage to his chest. She sighed in the beauty of it. It wasn’t about sex, it never was. It wasn’t even about power. She hated men, despised them with a passion so spiteful that sometimes she didn’t even know what she was doing. “Do I have to gag you too?” She asked, angry now. Without waiting for an answer, she got on top of him and strangled him. She gleefully cut off his air supply, choked him until his face turned purple. She released him, never knowing that she’d been screaming a scream that sounded inhuman. She punched him a couple of times in the face while he sputtered and coughed. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” she angrily said. Of course, he couldn’t answer her.36

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She took a scalpel and lightly ran it along his stomach, wanting to cut him open right then and there. She had to refrain for a while. She had to make him pay; she had to make him suffer. She cut into him a little bit, making blood run onto the white sheets. She drew a heart on his chest with the blade.39

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The first time, and he was drunk. She was sleeping in her bed when he clamped his hand on her mouth; she awoke, and could smell the whiskey on his breath. She was only five. She started to cry when he hurt her, when he made her touch him. She’d cried so hard, she’d screamed, knowing no one could hear her. He’d hit her then, to shut her up. She’d screamed even louder, until he had knocked her head into the wall, rendering her unconscious.42

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She was beating him, punching him over and over again in the chest, getting blood on her hands. She stopped when she realized what she was doing. Vivian took a deep breath, then another. She had to get control of herself. She always lost control; she never made him pay because she ended it too quickly. She wanted this time to be different. She wanted to make him suffer as she had for the last twenty-five years.45

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Vivian stopped for ten full minutes before she finally had control of herself. She knew that if she lost it, she couldn’t live with herself. She’d finally kill herself after all these years.47

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She turned back to the silent man, his chest was heaving. She knew that she’d already caused him considerable pain, but she wanted to cause more. She wanted him to experience hell. She’d already nearly killed him when she choked him, she didn’t want to do that again.50

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Stop, please stop, her mind screamed at him. But she knew that if she uttered even a whimper, he’d beat her so bad she’d be black and blue. He whispered drunkenly in her ear, telling her she knew she wanted it. Even though she hadn’t made a sound, he was choking her, she could hardly breathe. Every single night for the last seven years he’d been coming into her room. She’d suffered scars, bruises, and broken bones. Masses of blood had been spilled in this room. But worse than the physical maladies, she’d suffered heartbreak, loneliness, and constant mental abuse.53

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“You’re not good enough, you stupid bitch!” he screamed at her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered quietly. “You really think you can go to school? You’re so stupid you can’t even add. You’re good for nothing.”56

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Shaking, Vivian dug the scalpel into his stomach so hard blood poured out. Her face was red with rage. She was crying, but she didn’t realize it until the tears clouded her vision. She started cutting even though she couldn’t see anything.59

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He was so drunk he didn’t even know which was up or down, but he managed to get into her room. It was worse tonight. He was so clumsy he was hurting her. But she’d learned that no matter how drunk he was, he could still beat her to a bloody, almost dead pulp. She was pushed face down in her bed, he grabbed her hair and jerked her head up, she heard and felt her neck crack. It hurt so bad, silent tears streamed down her face. He passed out on top of her, and she carefully moved out from under him. She was sixteen now, with golden blonde hair. She stumbled into his room, took his gun out, sat down and cried. She remembered every detail..62

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“Claire, you know you can’t leave me. You love me too much.” He calmly said, sitting in his chair, drinking a beer.64

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“Yes, I can leave you, and I am. You’re such a pig, Robert. I hate your guts. I’m taking Vivian with me too. You can sit here and drink yourself to death for all I care, but we’re leaving.”66

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“You’re cheating on me, aren’t you?” He got up from his chair with lightning speed and smacked her face. She was used to it, it didn’t hurt anymore.68

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“You can’t hurt me anymore,” she whispered defiantly.70

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“You wanna make a bet?” He sneered. Her grabbed her hair and slammed her face into the wall, again, again, and again. Blood ran down her beautiful features, her nose was broken and she was crying. “That’s what I thought.”72

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She slumped to the floor when he let go of her. He turned and walked away, did a double take and slammed his steel-toed boot into her rib cage. She curled into the fetal position, finding it hard to breathe. He slammed her head into the floor, kicked her again, and punched her. She was already dead, but he kept beating her.74

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Vivian quietly ran from the shadowed doorway into her room, hiding under the covers. She curled up and whimpered, crying herself to sleep, filled with nightmares. When she woke up the next morning, he was sitting at the kitchen table and crying.76

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He looked up and said, “She left us, pumpkin.”79

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Vivian rocked with the gun in her hands, knowing she should have done this a long time ago. She went back to her room and sat in her chair, waiting.81

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He woke up in her bed. His head hurt when he sat up and looked around the room. She held his gun in her hands, leveled between his eyes.83

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“Sweetheart, what are you doing with Daddy’s gun? You know that’s for work, you shouldn’t ever play with it.”85

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“You killed mom.”87

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Those three words knocked around in his head. How did she know that? How could she possibly know?89

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“I saw you when I was five. You beat her to death because she wanted to leave and you said she was cheating on you. She wanted to take me with her.”91

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His eyes glinted dangerously. “You better put down that gun if you know what’s best for you.”93

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She shot him between the eyes.95

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~*~97

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“Jesus.” To Detective Fredricks, the word described everything. There was blood everywhere, there was no way of telling whose was where. There was a man on the bed, and a woman in a corner. He’d seemingly died of stab and cut wounds, and the woman had shot herself.101

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“I knew her,” said Detective Crandall, standing behind the young female detective.104

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“How?” She asked him in a strangled voice. She’d never seen anything like this.107

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“A long time ago, about sixteen years ago, I got a call from a hysterical young woman. Said her name was Vivian Lancaster. I later researched her and found out that Claire and Vivian Lancaster had fallen off of the face of the planet eleven years earlier. Claire’s husband, Sheriff Robert Lancaster, said that they’d run away, the woman took the kid and took off. Never heard from her again. When we got on scene, we found this young woman, bawling her eyes out. She pointed down to the cellar, this very room, and didn’t say a damn thing. We came down and found the old man, his head was blown off, she’d shot him. We sedated her and brought her in. When she was lucid enough to talk, she’d told us that he’s killed her mother, started sexually abusing her when she was five. She never went to school, no one around here even knew she existed anymore, he hid her away from the world. Turns out she was right, we never pressed charges. This looks like she’s been doing this for years, there’s dried blood all over the place.”110

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Detective Fredricks took in the scene. On one wall, she’d written “i'm sorry i couldn’t make him suffer like he did to me” in the man’s blood. On another wall, there was old drawings and paintings completely covering it. They were done from a young hand, obviously young Vivian’s work as a child. An old rocking chair with peeling white paint sat in one corner. Most of the furniture was kept from the young woman’s broken childhood. A piece of paper caught her eye. “Hey, Detective, look at this.”113

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Together they read 214 names on the piece of paper. It looked like names of victims. “Jesus,” she whispered when she saw what was written on the bottom of the page. “My Father. What a mess.”116

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Standing on the edge of the black abyss, she laughs and tosses her mane of hair. She’s only five, but not afraid. She grins and jumps off into the blackness.119