This is my first attempt at writing a short story. Close friends have always told me I can tell a great story, so I just wanted to give it a go. My stories are usually pretty insensitive in that I talk about things most people see as cruel and tragic. That's not why I do it. I write about them to give a real sense of emotion. This is kind of a rough draft, so let me know what you think, please.
Crime of Passion
The author sat stoic. There was a calm he had never known. The page before him was his last chance to reach out, maybe not to the world, but at least in a fashion that would mean the world. This page was still blank, but his mind was brimming with more conscious activity than he remembered since that night.
This was had to be written in his own handwriting, maybe it was a last-ditch effort at revealing himself to still be a human being. He began to write. The first line took much longer to say than the million times he had thought it to himself.
I always loved her.
He stared at these words for a long moment and fought the emotions welling up in him. This was the time to release it all. He never spoke to anyone during the trial, and he never agreed to have a sit down with the family. He could never have handled it. Sitting here now was the only chance he would get to say what he needed.
I know that this seems so puny after the events that have brought me here, but it is all I have left to say. I loved her more than my brain could understand. I don't understand the way in which the emotions came to embrace me. I don't remember what day it was when I knew I couldn't live without her. I only know that I have grown old inside, my face shows dates that I've never lived, and my will is so weak that there isn't enough of me left but to write my feelings. I still hear her laughter in my dreams. The innocent happiness is now like a knife that leaves wounds on my soul. I even still find myself brought out of endless thought by her calling my name; the way she used to speak to me elates me... I still see her form in the corners of my vision which leads my excited glances to disappointing shadows. Much like the shadows that lurk within the periphery of mind telling me that this is reality. This is the way my life ends; if I couldn't be more certain I had died even before that night. It's always possible that she was too good for me. Which made it all the worse when she left. Instead of just a piece of me missing there was more than of me missing than I could live without.
His pen stopped writing. He couldn't decide if he was just stuck or if he had stopped being in control of himself. Was he capable of movement or had his brain ceased communicating his intentions to his body? No. He coaltit allow himself to give in to it again. This was his chance to overcome what had wrecked 3 lives. He willed himself to write for the redemption. Not redemption of his soul, but for the experience that had taken away his love, his life, and him. The shadows were back within his mind now. Him... HIM! This is what this was really about. He had taken away the only part of him he liked. His hand moved to his eyes. "I'm not an evil man," he finally spoke. The space was much to small to contain the emotion in his voice as the echoes sounded like a broken weep from a much younger man. He knew he would no longer be able to blame someone else for this. This was undeniably his own mistake. As he cried openly now he would not hide. He would spill his emotion onto the paper.
I wasn't strong enough to live without her. My intentions were malicious, and I deserve my own fate. I knew I might hurt this man, but my only intention was to take this husk that once contained my soul and destroy it. There would be no more suffering. Instead I lived to see and create for you more pain than I had ever imagined. I only hope you take with these words the sincerity of my remorse. I pray for your grief to end with me. And may a love that is strong enough to birth so much destruction have the strength to hold together and rebuild the lives of those affected.
He then signaled the priest who was watching over him.
"Have you finished, my son?" he asked in a voice that was trying to soothe the teary eyed man before him.
"Y-yes... give this to her mother." This would be the first contact he would have with the mother since the accident, and the priest took all of this importance in as he nodded and left.
The execution would take place in 3 minutes. He looked into his heart and made himself accept what he had done. His wife left him for another man. He knew that he was the cause of her leaving, not the fault of the other man for wooing her away. That night he drank himself stupid, and tried to kill himself crashing into the man's house. He killed the other man, and his beloved eating dinner. He survived to witness pains he had never known.
You might think one wouldn't get the death penalty for this, but he knew this was the end and played it into two counts of murder one. When asked if this was an accident he made the only statement he'd made since then: "When I got into the car tonight I knew what I was doing; someone had to die." What he wanted before couldn't even compare to the emotions he was feeling now. It had to end.
"Let's go." said a soft voice still filled with authority. The guard himself walked with a slow-paced emptiness that mimicked the somber mood of this occasion.
"I am ready," said the author as he picked himself up.
He felt like he was walking in speeded motion, though he was moving as slowly as he could. for the next several moments he wasn't even aware of where he was, what was going on, or what was being done to him. He could only picture her face. He thought of the letter he had written as an apology. Not a justification of his actions, but an attempt to apologize. When the last needle entered his veins he saw the the most beautiful woman he had seen in his life, and in this moment he knew that was true.
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