My Ghost

Rise and Shine

I awaken with such a strong feeling of accomplishment and purpose. I feel like I can make it through the day without all of the nervousness and paranoia that I am so accustomed to. Although, I still have this strong sense of empowerment running through my veins like a wildfire, it's not enough. Something has been awakened inside my soul. Something has been born. Something with an unspeakable hunger that I have never known before.

The other kills were different. The first was almost an accident. Almost. My husband had beaten me that night, and I just had to get out. I refused to live like that any longer. I had finally had enough. I took off while he was asleep. I had no intention of ever going home again, otherwise, I would never have left. He would've killed me, or at least, made me wish I was dead.

I ran out of the house, and just kept running until I got into the city. I didn't know where I was going to go. I had no plan, no money, or no sanity, at that moment.

I walked through the city until, all of a sudden, I noticed I was in some dark alley alone, with the sound of footsteps behind me. I just kept walking, never looking back. What was there in that alley to be afraid of that I didn't already have at home waiting for me? I would rather die than to be forced to face him again, anyway. I really didn't care what was happening. I just hoped it would be quick and as painless as possible.

So, I slowed down, inviting death. The footsteps got closer. The alley seemed darker. I was calm. I had excepted and embraced my death as if it were a long lost lover I had be seeking all my life. I stopped. The footsteps stopped. There was a brief moment of silence before he moved toward me again. I didn't move. I didn't turn to look. I just stood there, waiting.

At last, he was right behind me, so close I could hear his breath. I could even feel it on the back of my neck as his hand softly brushed my hair over my shoulder. I whispered, "Go ahead. I'm already dead." But then I felt the blade lightly touch the side of my face, and I snapped. Something inside me demanded to live. I don't know how I did it, but I spun around, kneed him in the crotch, and gave him a swift right hook to the chin as he was doubling over in pain. I kicked and punched until I somehow knocked the knife out of his hand before he had a chance to use it. I went for the knife on the ground. As I stood back up, with knife in hand, he lunged at me and the next thing I knew, the blade was in his stomach. He slowly fell to his knees and I began to run away.

I got as far as the end of the alley, and stopped. I wasn't finished. I wanted more. I turned and walked back to him. By this time he was lying on the ground with the knife sticking out of his gut. He was moaning in pain and begging for help, my help.

I bent down in a quick movement and grabbed the knife, pulling it out of his stomach, and stabbed him again. He screamed and cried out in agony. I tried to stab him again and again, but he blocked these stabs with his hands and arms.

Finally, his hands and arms were so sliced up, that they wouldn't even work anymore. His shoulders were straining to hold up arms that were now useless. A few of his fingers were on the ground beside him. I picked up one of them and shoved it in his mouth. Then, with a quick thrust, I stabbed him in the throat, forcing the blade as far as it would go, and pulling up on it until the gaping wound exposed muscle and nerves. His teeth clamped down on the finger in his mouth and I heard the bone snap. Then, silence. He was dead. I pulled the knife out of his throat and used my already bloodied sweat shirt to wipe off all of my fingerprints. I carefully held it with my shirt until I found a dumpster to drop it in. After I ditched the knife, I walked back home. I was ready to live. For the first time in years, I was ready to live.