Miserable+Liar

by Erina Leask
 * Miserable Liar **

Friday, the clouds were heavy, and blotted out the sun with occasional kisses of rain that splattered noisily on the window panes, but the grime that coated the glass refused to be washed away. Ryan sighed as he sat by the window, gazing out at the bleak street that filled his view. It was just a dull road, a little house sat lopsidedly across the street, the paint was peeling off the walls and the rickety fence had mostly rotted away. There had once been a brick wall but it had collapsed with age. The plants were all withered and twisted in silent agony. There was one lonesome tree that hung over the street; its leaves seemed even more drab than usual, its trunk drastically misshapen. He tried to make himself think that it was only the dreadful weather that was making everything seem so grey, but truly, it was just a lie to hide the wretchedness that hung over his life.

His deep burgundy fringe fell over his eyes and he lazily brushed it away. Ryan’s house was small and untidy. Technically it wasn’t even his house, but his parents were long since gone, and the love they had neglected to show him in his childhood resulted in their graves being unvisited and without flowers. An only child, his younger years were simply filled with nights spent in the corner, listening to his parents yell and scream at each other. He had the inheritance money, but even that was slowly decreasing and his part time job was frustrating and low paying. His legal guardian, his aunt, had long since abandoned him after he had graduated from high school. His whole life had just been a painting of a melancholy hill he couldn’t even bring himself to climb anymore. There was nothing but a lonely view at the top, of everything his life could have been but never was.  There were no picture frames on his wall; his childhood friends had drifted away long ago and the memories just stung him. Ryan reached for his penknife and took a log off the stand by the fireplace that was old and rusty. No fire had warmed his house for years. His one hobby kept him occupied, carving shapes and figures out of wood, he had shelves dedicated to holding his arts, and occasionally he managed to sell a few. It was something he liked to do when feeling under, something to either distract him of his hurtful life, or one that reminded him of it. The wood was rough in his hand and he searched the surroundings for some inspiration.

It was then he noticed her. She was a small pale girl who looked only slightly younger than him standing on the other side of the road, outside the lopsided house, under the tangled tree. Her straight black silky hair was long and draped over her face; her extremely tattered dark grey dress - which presumably used to be black before it had become so worn - was being tossed around by the vicious wind that snatched at her.

 “What’s she doing?” he muttered to himself, curiously, leaning forward. He wiped the window with his sleeve to clear away some of the muck and grunge and peered out at her, just standing there in the wet and cold, her head down, facing Ryan’s house from across the street. She looked familiar, like he knew her, but he couldn’t say he remembered ever seeing her before. A mother and her small child passed by the girl, huddling under a wide umbrella that was struggling to keep its shape against the wind. They walked by without even seeming to notice her. The strange girl’s head slowly turned as they hurried past, as though she was watching them. The girl’s finger twitched and suddenly the child slipped over, grazing her knee. The child threw back her head and started wailing, clutching her leg as blood started to trickle from the scrape. The mother knelt down and picked her child up, not wanting to deal with her antics in the middle of the street while the storm clouds loomed ever closer. Ryan watched them go, his inquisitiveness piqued at the strange girl’s reaction. She was gazing wistfully down the street at the two, especially the child, whose face was red and wet with tears. Once they were out of sight, the strange girl let her head loll forward again, as though she was idly inspecting her bare feet. The clouds miraculously parted and a small ray of sunshine found her, lighting up her pale face and her black hair momentarily shone with a slight tinge of blue. Oddly enough, the girl shied away, edging towards the shade of the single lanky tree. Ryan blinked, suddenly realising he’d been staring at her for the last ten minutes, and the log of wood was still in his hand. Having found his inspiration, he put the knife to the surface and the shavings started to drift to the floor. As he let the knife glide over the grain wood, forming the curves and contours of her body and her flowing dress he couldn’t help but find a familiarity with doing this, as if he had felt himself carving her shape before. He glanced over to her and there she was, alone and placid. Slowly she raised her head, one of her beautiful eyes peeking out from behind her hair and she looked right at him, from across the street, through the window and straight through him, into him. When their eyes met his heart lurched in his chest and he had a sudden urge to duck out of sight, but he stood there frozen like a deer in the headlights. She tilted her head and sent him a small warm smile. And his mouth twitched in a quick smile, with pink touching his cheeks.

Saturday, it was raining. It had started quietly at night and was now a thunderous roar on Ryan’s tin roof. He hadn’t slept long. It was early morning and his breakfast had consisted of tasteless cereal and slightly off milk. He was back at the window, finishing off his latest carving. Her lacy dress was frozen in a wind thrown shape, her hair billowing over her face, with one small hand up attempting to brush it behind her ear. He smiled at this new figure, as peculiar as this girl was; there was a sense of serene beauty about her. Ryan picked up the small carving and placed it on the shelf with the others and decided he’d make himself a coffee and wondered if his mail had arrived yet. He walked past the window then stopped having noticed a black shape out of the corner of his eye. There she was again, under the tree outside the house across the road. She was crouching next to the twisted trunk, shuddering in the cold and wet, her hair matted to her face and shoulders, her dress positively soaked. Ryan skipped the coffee; he found his old umbrella and without really thinking, stepped outside into the furious weather. He walked across his lawn, almost slipping in a puddle. He cautiously crossed the road, weary of the few dreary cars that putted by, sending fumes into the wet air. She looked up, startled and watched with interest as he approached.  “Hey, are you okay there?” Ryan asked over the sound of the pounding rain as casually as he could. She didn’t answer; she just nodded her head forward to allow her wet hair to hide her face. She was so small and pale. He moved closer and held the umbrella over to shelter her from the rain. There it was again, a strange keening sense, like he knew her. Her sweet fragrance was even familiar, but where had he smelt it before…? It was a calming smell, just being close to her made him feel…different. “You look a little cold, are you waiting for someone? Would you like to come inside and shelter for the rain while you wait for them?”  “What are you doing?” she finally asked timidly, not answering him directly. “You’re not supposed to come out yet.”  “I’m sorry?”  “You’re not meant to come out yet. In ten minutes time, you’re supposed to leave your house to get your mail, and then you were going to slip in the mud and break your nose on your driveway,” she muttered, pointing to a large patch of mud concealed by the grass. It was true if he had gone to collect his mail he would’ve walked straight through it.  Ryan just stared at her, confused and slightly disturbed. “What are you doing?” she asked again.  “I’m offering you to come inside out of the rain, you’re going to catch a cold,” he coaxed gently with a smile, disregarding her last odd comment. His aunt had always pressed on him to be a gentleman. Manners were simply second nature. However, by teaching him this, his afternoons were often spent with ‘being a gentlemen’ and fetching her drinks and performing menial chores. The girl considered his offer and eventually accepted. She stood unsteadily and Ryan quickly obliged and put a hand on her arm to balance her. She gave a petit sneeze into her hands. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“Bless you,” he said with a laugh, “Looks like I got here too late, you might have already caught the cold.” Ryan gave her room to hide under the brim of his umbrella then guided her across the road and up the steps of his house. He shook the water off his umbrella and opened the door for her, but she remained at the entrance looking into his house suspiciously. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “It’s okay,” Ryan told her with a smile, “my parents are away right now.” A harmless lie to conceal his loneliness. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “Your parents are always away,” she said softly, seeming to see straight through the deception. She then stepped past his speechless figure and into his shabby home and proceeded to shiver in her wet dress. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “Let me get you a towel,” Ryan offered, after a few moments of hesitation, “so you can dry off a bit, you’re sopping wet.” <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “Thank you,” she replied meekly. The girl let her eyes gaze around, pretending to have some interest in the surroundings; but really, the house wasn’t much to look at. It was small, probably consisted only of a living room and a kitchen, one bathroom and a small bedroom. Ryan went to get her a towel, walking down to the hallway cupboard but stopped to silently observe her from a moment. He watched as she let her eyes wander over to one particular dark corner of the room, she stared at it for a few long moments. That was the corner that Ryan had spent so much of his time, hiding from his parents’ drunken abuse. Curled up and afraid, letting loneliness creep under his skin and rot him from the inside. He sighed inwardly at the memory and wondered why the girl was drawn to that corner too. He tore his eyes away from her to fetch a cloth, cursing under his breath as he tripped over the bags of groceries he had bought from the Shopping Centre early yesterday morning and neglected to put away. The moment he turned down the hall, the girl’s head twisted to face where he had been standing, observing her, and smiled unpleasantly. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">The girl meandered aimlessly over to a worn desk, completely occupied with paperwork and other unused items. She fondled the fluffy tip of a paint brush with her finger and wiped the dust off a ticket to the cinema, two years expired. There was a broken picture frame, the photo it had once held had been torn and burned long ago. She stared curiously at a bent spoon and then an ash tray with old cigarette butts. She went to pick it up inquisitively but dropped it and the ashes drifted to the floor, followed by the tray which smashed. Her facial expression never went past neutral boredom and she made no movement to pick up the shards. She let her fingers trace down to the draws of the desk, they were all locked so she turned away with disinterest. Having noticed them, the girl approached the shelves of Ryan’s carved figures, not fussed by the fact she was tracking mud over the carpet and dripping everywhere. She let her eyes take in the little models and even allowed herself a small sad smile. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“You don’t remember me, but I remember you…” she mumbled to herself. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“Sorry?” Ryan asked as he walked in, having successfully located a clean towel, she was standing by the shelf staring curiously at the newest figure. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“Nothing,” she muttered. Ryan felt his face flush as she smiled and she reached up and took it off the shelf; it was the figure of her. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “Who is this?” she asked quietly. Without the rain pounding in their ears Ryan found her voice silky and small, so smooth and perfect. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “Um, well,” Ryan began uneasily, “I saw you yesterday standing outside that house and...” he trailed off searching desperately for a plausible explanation, “and I hope you don’t mind, but I liked your dress so I thought I’d make a wooden model of you.” She looked down at her shredded discoloured dress doubtfully. “It’s a hobby,” he added with a shrug. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “That’s sad,” she said simply. The words almost stung him, but her voice seemed to suggest she wasn’t upset of angry at him for creating a model of her so he was relieved. She put the model back and timidly took the towel from him. He had insisted she use the privacy of his bathroom and while she was drying herself, he decided to make some tea for them, searching desperately for his best china among the plastic cutlery and cups. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">He made the tea with an ancient blend he found in a musty packet hidden in his cupboards. Small puffs of steam rose from the deep crimson drink in small china cups. She returned soon after and she was completely dry, including the towel and Ryan took it back from her, again with an uncomprehending look. Her hair was long and black with a slight deep navy blue glow in the light of Ryan’s small light bulb. Ryan managed to catch a glimpse of her sparkling deep purple eyes. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “How are you feeling now? Better that you’re not wet? I made some tea for you, why don’t you take a seat,” he said quickly. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “I’m fine,” she replied blankly. She sat down on the chair and the small wooden table by the window, absent-minded she brushed the wooden shaving off the table face and went to pick up her cup of tea. The moment her pale slender finger brushed the surface, a hideous crack appeared in the side. She hesitated then put her hands back in her lap, embarrassed. Ryan, having been deep in thought had not noticed the small incident. They both sat in a heavy silence, something was playing at Ryan’s mind, slowly tugging and causing him to fray at the edges. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “Something is wrong,” the girl said unexpectedly, looking up. “What is it that troubles you?” Ryan hesitated; it was uncanny and perturbing how she seemed to have the ability to see into his mind. It had been her knowledge of his parents’ death that unsettled him. She nodded, “Ah, it’s about your parents, isn’t it?” <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> He leant forward, intrigued, “How did you know?” She looked down at the stained tablecloth and the ugly crack in Ryan’s teacup that held the drink he had made for her. And there it was. Black numbers, printed on his hand. Only she could see them, and they were why she was here. Today’s date, it was his time to go. She closed her eyes… <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “I was there,” she replied finally with a small ashamed sigh. Ryan just peered at her with uncertainty. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “What do you mean?” he asked slowly. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “I was with your parents on that day. Wednesday the 3rd of May. It was their time. I killed them.” <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> Ryan sat back in his seat with scepticism and stifled a short laugh. “Impossible, my mother had a heart attack in the car while driving my father home and…” he suddenly choked on his own words, as the realisation of what she had said hit him like a punch to the face. There was a lump in his throat. She looked serious. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “I was the heart attack,” her voice was all he heard, everything else faded. He felt his fists involuntarily clench. She looked down at her fidgeting hands in her lap, her tall posture diminished and her shoulders slumped. Ryan instantly saw her remorse and decided to jump in with some words of comfort, anything to keep her talking, he needed to know more. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“My parents never liked me,” he said, forcing a shrug of fake disinterest. “I had a terrible childhood; they were never there, never home. They never cared or did anything for me. All they did was yell at each other and throw beer bottles…” The sound of glass hitting outside his bedroom wall was a memory that made Ryan shift in his seat uncomfortably. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I was there with you Ryan, every injury, every illness, every heart break, and every tear. I’m always there, your life, your parents’ life, everyone. It’s my job, my duty...” she said, then paused, “my punishment. I am all that is pain. I am all that is death,” another hesitation, as though she was finally admitting this to herself, “I am Misery.” Her hair hid her eyes and the tears Ryan was sure she must have been crying. She started to shudder, as though everything had just been crushed, all her defences and supports. She was broken. Ryan blinked, the confusion raged in his head like a wild fire. He had let a personification of death into his house? <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “I…I d-don’t understand,” he stuttered. Then she looked up, the damaged look on her face was all he needed to see. Suddenly his fear of her shattered into fragments and dissolved. She was as tormented as he was. A lost soul. There was no malice or sadism in her face; she was an innocent prisoner, same as him. Empathy flooded him and he felt ashamed at the flush of anger he had felt. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I torture people, I destroy lives! It’s all I’ve done forever, and I can’t even feel sorry,” she said, her voice that had once been calm was now distressful, “I’m not allowed to experience their pain. Every time you fall over, every time you fail in something, every time someone breaks your heart, I’m there. I’m the trip, I’m the stupidity, and I’m the hurtful words. And I can’t do ANYTHING but stand and watch as I destroy worlds. I’m a monster.” <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">She lent her elbows on the table and grasped her head with curled fingers; her shoulders trembled. Years of neglected and isolation returned to him like an unstoppable wave and Ryan felt his skin prickle. His own face dropped to his lap. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">She looked up at him in his sorrow with glistening tears dotting her eyes. “I am so sorry…” she whimpered. “Everything you’ve felt for years…was me, it was my fault.” <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“No, no, its ok,” Ryan tried, forcing a smile. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“That time you fell over in footy practice and broke your leg in three places,” she reminisced. And Ryan did remember, but only the pain, the utter agony of his injury. “That was my fault, I did that. That time your parents smashed a wine glass over your head for being stupid, I was the once who flared the anger, and the pain that seared your face. I’m so sorry…I got too close.” Ryan listened with disbelief, all those events had indeed happened, and they had been points in time that had ruined him… That injury would stop him from ever playing footy again, and costing his parents a small fortune. That hit to the head for a single poor grade in school had completely destroyed his security. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“Why me? Why is my life so miserable? I know it’s your duty to be the pain in peoples life, but why is there so much in mine? What did I do??” He shouted, losing control of the anguish that had built into his life. She recoiled instantly, wounded and frightened by his words. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I’m…. I’m so sorry,” she spluttered, “I was just…. drawn to you…because…. you were just so amazing and… I wanted to be near you, you were a comfort in my tormented existence, even though you never really saw me there. But I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it! Misery is my only true companion, and it follows me wherever I go, and hurts the people I want to be close to most….” <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">Shame at his outburst coloured his face as he listened. Guilt weighed on his shoulders, making him shift again on his hard chair, and the regret was added to the cocktail of emotions that were bubbling inside him. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“Is…is there nothing you can do?” he asked softly. He was feeling a strange and impulsive fondness for the girl. She lifted her head then raised her arms, and for the first time Ryan noticed the shackles and chains that hung off her wrists and his eyes widened with horror. They were big and heavy looking, how had he missed that before? Blood from the wounds of the shackles ran down her arms, her skin there was raw and bruised. He instinctively put a hand to his mouth in shock. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I’m a prisoner. And I hate myself for what I do...” <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> She abruptly stood from her chair and it fell in the movement, Ryan got to his feet after her. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“What’s wrong?” he asked a tinge of concern in his voice. She was looking fearfully out the window. The rain had stopped and arrows of light began to pierce through the glass of the window, seeking targets on the tablecloth. The girl was suddenly caught in a beam of light and she retreated immediately, throwing herself away from the window and seeking out the darkest corner. She slid down the wall and huddled herself into a ball, Ryan went to her side and looked down at her small frail shape shivering in the shadows. She reminded him of him self, small and shivering in the dark, another twinge of pain stabbed him at the memory. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“Hey, you okay? What’s going on?” he asked again. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I’m afraid of the light; I don’t want people to see me. You’re the first person,” she whispered, looking up at him with her big sad eyes. “I’m a creature of horrible deeds. And I am bound to this fate. But I never wanted it,” she whispered, looking away, “I never wanted this…none of this.” Her fingers lightly traced around the huge rusty chains that were bound around her wrists. She pulled her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself close, and then rested her face down on her knees. Ryan crouched down by her and took her hand sympathetically. “I cause things to die, I take away colour, I suck away life, I am all that’s sad and lonely, and I don’t even know what that feels like,” she was saying, her voice muffled by her dress. He moved to sit beside her and he put his arm around her affectionately, without even realising. He felt close to her, new warmth he’d never felt, even though her skin was cold as ice. It was like he’d known her all his life, and maybe, just maybe, if she had been there in his most sorrowful moments, she wasn’t the sadness, but the comfort. And now he’d be the comfort. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I wish you knew me like I knew you,” she said, lifting her face and her words didn’t unsettle him, feelings he had never summoned began to rise in him. Thoughts he didn’t remember asking for slid into his mind. He wished he knew her, wished he had been there for her. As they talked, her body seemed to change; he could see more of her. Scars started to appear on her arms, more chains appeared, binding her body. Both representations of mental and physical pain, but things she had hidden, and forgotten. And yet she was so beautiful… <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I’ve tried so many times to end myself,” she was saying “to feel pain, to feel sadness. It’s not real though, what I feel is never real… I have to be released from this fate of mine, to finally leave this death bringing trade and to finally leave this conscious world. For that to happen, I have to experience the kind of pain I cause others to suffer, but I’ve never been able to do that. I’ve never felt love before, nor friendship because I’m like the sun, if you get too close…you’ll burn,” she told him. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I don’t mind getting burned,” Ryan replied with a casual shrug. She smiled, so small and insignificant, but it sparked an idea in him, one that promised both suffering and relief. But when he looked at her, it felt the suffering would be okay. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">Ryan stood and he gazed her with her face stained with blood and with fear, ‘don’t leave me’ it said. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“I want to help you,” Ryan whispered, as he spoke he slowly walked to the desk, hidden under the paperwork and the other miscellaneous items and curled his fingers around the handle to a draw; it was locked with a few blood fingerprints staining the wood that the girl hadn’t noticed upon her first inspection. “I have no life ahead of me; I lost everything so long ago,” he slid the key from his pocket, it was rusty and bent with what looked like nicks and marks made on the metal shaft by either his penknife or his teeth, “I don’t care anymore,” as he slid the key into its place and the draw clicked open, “if you were the one who made my life a horrible thing to live through,” he started, slowly opening the draw, blood stained the inside, with words of hate, malice and destroying sadness scratched into the wood with specks of dried blood, “I don’t even care. Just the thought that you had been close to me all this time makes it worth it,” he continued with a smile, “If you’re trapped, in this fate you don’t deserve, even if I have to burn to get close enough to help you, I will.” There was something in the draw; it glinted with a terrible black gleam. But she was shaking her head, tears already spilling from her eyes. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“No, don’t,” she pleaded, already knowing what he was going to do. He took the object in one hand. “I’m not worth that, I’m a monster, a horrible thing, don’t.” <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“You’re not a monster,” Ryan told her, as he turned and graced her with the softest of smiles that made his green eyes shine with a new glow, “and you don’t need to hide.” He took a step back into the sunlight that was now flooding through the window and it bathed him in gold. He reached out his free hand. She looked at it for a moment with eyes that sparkled with fear, but with hints of excitement. She slid her small cold pale hand into his and he lifted her from that dark corner and into the light, into his embrace, her hair flowing gracefully behind her in the swift motion, “because you’re beautiful,” he whispered in her ear. The beams of light enveloped her, and his arms held her tight. Something cold bit her insides; her face was buried in his shoulder but her eyes were wide with disbelief at this incredible pain, something no physical agony could match. Ryan felt so wonderful, and yet, more lonely then ever. He thought having her so close, close enough to hear what he thought was a heartbeat would qualm his inhibitions, but it didn’t. She was like the sun, but dark and terrible, and he was burning. But he didn’t care; he was okay to let it go, let it all go. And free her. And free him self. She felt his body tense in her arms. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;"> “Don’t do it!” she suddenly cried, struggling in his arms, “Wait! I--” but it was too late. The words tumbled from her lips but a new sound smashed them out of the air. The shot rang out through the room and echoed viciously down the street. The body that was holding her began to slump and she could only stand there, violently shivering, her eyes wide with fright and unbelievable pain, as he slipped away. His blood stained her tattered dress and the gun he had held to his head fell from his hand and cluttered to the floor. Almost in slow motion, his body collapsed lifelessly at her feet. There was a sigh. She wasn’t sure if it was of relief, or of pain, or just his last breath, floating away. Finally. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">All of that to suppositively make her feel the pain and sorrow she needed so she could be released, in vain...again. Her hands went to her mouth and she took a few steps back until she was pressed against the cold hard wall. She let herself slide down its cold surface until she was huddled up in the corner, in the safety shadows again, her job done. After a few moments of distress, her face slowly returned to an emotionless expression, she could be herself again.

<span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">Sunday, the investigators had come and gone. But she was still there, Misery, hidden in the corner, her all seeing eyes watched everything. She sat there and the days went by, the people came and went, leaving her unseen, she was merely the dark presence of death looming over the body now, the coldness of the room. She was sure what she had felt had really been real raw emotion, but it didn’t matter. The date had been on his hand, printed in dripping black numbers, it had been his time, she had no choice, but he did, and he had chosen to take it. She had been there his whole life; it was her job, her duty and her ‘punishment’, as she had cleverly put it, to torment him ruthlessly, a horrible sadistic smile touched her lips briefly. The verdict of his sudden death had been announced, suicide from mental instability. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">You don’t remember me, but I remember you... Her purple eyes, stricken of all regret, glanced up at the shelves with Ryan’s wooden figures. He would never have known...but they were all of her. Each one. He had seen her so many times in his life, but never recognised her as anything but pain. The sunshine drifted through the window, the light resting on where his body had fallen, it was gone now, but the memory was there, printed into the wooden boards like a story. The blood had stained the floor, and all she could do was stare at where his handsome face had been, where his vacant eyes had been staring into nothing. She had hoped there would’ve been a slight smile of contentment on his dead lips, but there had just been mask of terror. <span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">She let a final fake tear drip down her cold, hard face. She finished the word she had never finished before, one that accounted for all the deaths she had ever caused.

<span style="font-family: 'Goudy Old Style','serif'; font-size: 17.3333px;">“…Lied.”