Writers Block

Emily finally came home around six or seven. Her hair was slightly rumpled and her clothes were wrinkled.

“Eugh, I’m exhausted,” she groaned, sitting down at the table. “My friend Chelsea came to visit and we had such a fun day.”

“Mmhmm,” I murmured, staring at the side of her neck. It was slightly redder than the surrounding skin.

“Danny… is there something wrong?” Her voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Oh, no. Nothing at all. Let’s just eat.”

************

I set the dinner I’d made on the table, making sure I didn’t drop anything.

“Mmm, smells good,” she said, placing a slice of beef on her plate.

“I hope you enjoy. It’s a very special meal,” I said, smirking and sitting opposite her. After almost five minutes of silence, she looked back up at me.

“Aren’t you eating?” she asked. I shook my head.

“I ate earlier.” She shrugged and went back to eating. I got up and went to the sink behind her, wetting a dishcloth.

Time to see if I was right… I rubbed the side of her neck and within seconds, a bright red love mark appeared on her pale skin.

“Oh, now what’s that Emily?” I asked. She got up and tried to cover it with her hand.

“Nothing,” she mumbled.

“Em, I think I know a hickie when I see one,” I said. “And before you say anything else, I saw you today at the café and I read your emails.”

“Those were my private letters,” she started, but I quickly cut her off.

“So, who was it today? John, Tyler, Matt, or somebody I don’t know?” She opened and closed her mouth like a fish a few times before sighing loudly.

“Tyler,” she admitted. “But look Dan, I’m sorry! I do love you, so much…how about we just pretend this never happened, and start over?”

“Oh, I don’t need to pretend that,” I said, smirking. “In a few moments, it’ll be like you never existed.”

“Wha-what do you mean?” she stammered. Her breathing was already becoming faster and more erratic. I grinned and pushed her up against the counter.

“Did you find something different about your meal?” Her eyes widened dramatically.

“You… you poisoned me?!”

“Congratulations!” I yelled, throwing my hands in the air. “You’ve won the first prize of more cyanide laced beef! While you’re at it, take some wine! And some carrots! All smothered in cyanide!” I laughed at my own joke. Her breathing was extremely harsh by now. Her grip on the counter slackened and she collapsed to the floor, clutching her stomach.

“Why would you do this to me?” she whispered.

“Emily, let’s just say I don’t like sharing my things with other people.” Her eyes rolled up into her head and she convulsed on the ground. I left the kitchen and headed for the bathroom. I ran some water and splashed it on my face, letting the sound of it drown out her dying gasps. After five minutes or so, I returned to the kitchen. She was still in the same spot. Her eyes were now empty shells of what they’d once been, and her skin was already starting to cool.

“Yeesh,” I murmured.

I suppose when someone kills someone they love, they’re expected to feel two things; either great happiness, or overwhelming guilt.

I felt neither. In fact, to be truthful, I only had two thoughts in my head.

What am I going to do with this body?

And I think I’ve cured my writers block.

This was going to make a fantastic book.