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The following is a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

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Life Begins At 40...
By Laura99

 


This piece of writing was inspired by the beautiful song “Bleed (I Must Be Dreaming) by Evanescence. I encourage you to listen to it as you read…

You heard me breathe as I froze inside watching her fall, crimson staining the ebony of her skin. I must be dreaming. The demons that have haunted my dreams for the past month mock me in my solitary moment of weakness. I inhale painfully, my lungs screaming, begging me to `give up' `die already', and another piece of my stupid, heart shatters, and I bleed. I must be dreaming.

A bright light pierces through the fog that is slowly infecting my vision, is this the light that people speak of as death envelops them in her loving embrace? She offers me comfort, but I do not deserve peace.

A muffled sound reaches my ears; perhaps the sound of angels come to deliver God's judgement. The judgement that only a person like me deserves. I curse myself for being who I am for being seduced by deaths temptations and for my many, many weaknesses, as all goes quiet and dark.

A singular, chilling thought rushes around my head. Ironic isn't it? That the person you trust the most with your life is the one to take it away…

My name was Alice. At 39 my life was taken. Now my lonely spirit wanders through time mourning its loss, bitterly laughing at its idiocy as it relives the moments of its death and the blindfolded life it used to lead.

For twenty long years I was married to Jonathon, a devout Catholic, one of many who thought themselves God's messengers - preaching what they thought was right, and `cleansing' the masses with their purifying words. Together, we had a son, the person for whom I would sacrifice anything to see their smiling face for one more time.

The date of my death was November 18th, for a few weeks Jonathon had been distant, snappy, as though a great weight had settled on his shoulders. Another dinner had passed without his presence. And I worried.

The possibility of him having an affair had crossed my mind countless times before, but it just seemed so plausible right there and then that I remember charging up the stairs and ripping his clothes off the hangars, searching for anything - a letter, a note, that would lead to another woman. What I found was far more sinister.

Names. Alec Good, Sara Thompson, Edward Andrews. Names that had been the focus of conversation in every household, on each and every news-station. Names of the three victims that had been so brutally murdered, three weeks in succession. Along with routes of the surrounding areas and a pair of gloves, blood-splattered and hideous.

Everyone has their demons and I was certainly no exception. It seemed that every time I closed my eyes they were upon me. Spinning their lies, weaving their deceit into my very soul. “He's not what he seems” they'd whisper. But I resisted every time. Resisted the truth. That my demons were angels in disguise.

I vaguely remember me trashing our bedroom, the certainty of exactly what my husband was hiding from me, made me angrier, more confused than I had ever been in my life. My rage clouded the rational part of my brain and I let it all loose.

I was brought back to my senses by my next-door neighbour, Claire shouting my name, frantically asking me if I was okay. The door had been open, she'd said. She had feared for my safety what with the racket I had been making and rushed in.

I'd shoved the papers and gloves in to her hands and screamed at her hysterically to take them to the police.

Dear Claire, I didn't know he was waiting for you.

They say life begins at 40 - Not for me, not for Claire. Not for Jonathon, who hung himself when there was nowhere left to run from the guilt. For eternity I am doomed to watch my life replay itself over and over again. Each time seeing another fault, another weakness, to add to my collection. I could have saved so many people if love had not blinded me with its sickly light, it just shows you, love doesn't amount to much nowadays does it?

Reviews anyone? Be nice, `tis my first story posted - ever.

;-)

 

The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.

Please see the Terms of Service for more information.

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