It cuts like a knife, love

He’s good, that Kevin. Running from me into the theater. It’s dark. I like it.

I can almost make out the entire set from my crouched position behind the lighting board. Without the lights, it almost feels eerie. My hand tightens around the slender blade I’m holding. It comforts me.

Suddenly I hear a thumping through the ceiling above me. I smile. The catwalks. Such are the disadvantages of having heavy shoes. Lithely I spring up and leap the railing to the stairs without a sound. I quickly climb them, using the outer edges of my feet to walk on. He’ll never know.

The door to the catwalks is swinging open freely. There is no doubt that he’s up here. Pressing my back as close to the rail as possible, I move quickly over the ceiling of the theater below.

I approach one of the many crossways, and stop, listening for the betraying sound of his footsteps. They are there, not loud, but distinct enough for me to follow. And I do. Through the maze-like grid of metal screens and wooden planks. It almost isn’t fair. I work here.

Once again I stop running, listening for the sound of his running. But I am greeted by something far more enjoyable. From around a corner, I hear his heavy breathing. His fear. It makes me smile again. It shouldn’t, but it does. And it makes me vicious.

Slowly, I snake my arm around the corner, carrying my knife toward the sound I hear. He can’t see, and it delights me to hear him cry out when I press the blade against his throat.

“Theresa. Wait. Let’s talk about it.” He can’t hide the fear, and I almost laugh. “Please put down the knife. Please.”

I can feel his body shaking, and I hear his sobs begin. All my anger fades. I can’t do this. Unbidden tears come to my eyes and begin to roll down my cheeks. When I speak, it is difficult to control me voice. “Why, Kevin? Why did you go away with her?” My hand begins to shake, and the knife drops from my grasp.

In an instant Kevin is up. I can’t seen him, but I know that the knife is no longer on the floor. His voice sounds ominous now, and I am afraid.

“You always were a sap Theresa, that’s why I did it. And I can’t have you always following me around trying to kill me can I?”

The idiocy of my actions hits me full in the face, and the anger that I had floods back into me.

“You… you hated me all along?”

He chuckles, and I lose it. With a scream of frustration, anger, hate, and sorrow I charge into him, beating him with my fists; kicking him with my feet. I feel his balance go, and I push with all of my strength.

He screams, as he crashes through drywall and plaster, falling to the floor 3 stories below. Then suddenly, all is quiet. I kneel, and begin to cry.


This article has 1 Comment

  1. This was an assignment for one of my high school writing classes. I believe that we were given a setting of “at your high school graduation party,” which I obviously took some gross liberties with. The comments on the story were: “I like your style – you adjusted the setting, however.” “Good opening.” “Dare I ask if this happened during their graduation party?” My grade was 13/15.

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