Quadropy

Ramona Bouresquot anxiously tugged on the end of her wool scarf as she chewed incessantly on her bottom lip. Her bone thin fingers quickly moved and began to pick away at her chipped aquamarine nail polish.

“Congratulations Ms. Bouresquot, you’re free to go,” said the cheery thirty-something year old secretary Ramona had often seen snoozing at her desk on Friday nights, when she worked the overnight shift.

Ramona gave the secretary a tight lipped smile before slowly walking into the waiting arms of her boyfriend, Keaton.

“You did it, I’m so proud of you,” he whispered softly into Ramona’s ear, tucking a strand of her mahogany brown hair behind her ear.

“I don’t think I can do this,” Ramona muttered, burying her head in Keaton’s chest.

He sighed, but wrapped his arm around his girlfriend in support nonetheless.

“It’ll be fine, I promise. It may seem frightening at first, going into the world for the first time after recovery, but you’ll be fine. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

Ramona lifted her head off Keaton’s chest, grinned from ear to ear and placed a gentle kiss against his lips. The red head secretary giggled at the display of affection before her and quickly hid her face behind her computer when the couple turned to shoot her a suspicious look.

Keaton laced his hand through Ramona’s, gave her a kiss on her soft, rosy cheek and led her out of the building she’d lived in for the past year, hopefully for the last time, and into the blinding sunlight of the outside world. The hustle and bustle of the major city continued on as its civilians went about business as usual. The world went about its day, while Ramona’s world had just begun to turn once again. Ramona took her first step outside of New Horizons Rehab Center, her first step into her new life.



Halfway across town, a life had come to a tragic end. Bill Kaulitz’s breathing came out in exasperated puffs as he leaned over the lifeless body of his now dead wife.

“What have you done?” he asked, his voice cracking in fear.

A drop of blood trickled down his chin from the large gash his wife had inflicted upon him seconds before her death. The mark burned, it felt raw and it stung Bill down to the core.

“I haven’t done anything. This is all your doing,” said the woman Bill blamed for the death of his wife.

The woman dragged her cracked, uncut nail along the back of Bill’s bare neck, sending a new wave of chills down his spine. He fought back the urge to release chunks of his earlier meals all over his sadistic tormentor’s shiny black shoes.

“Let’s go, we need to find you a new caretaker,” she commanded sternly. She’d had her fill of playing with her little prisoner’s mind.

“I can’t just leave her like this.” Bill moved to stroke his wife’s charred, dead palm, but before he could, a stark white blanket was thrown over her corpse.

“She’ll be gone by morning.”

These words refused to leave Bill’s mind as he was dragged away from his wife and the scent of rotting flesh faded from his senses.