The Murderer and the Heart

Written by Nicole Weber, Writer

I was running, running for my life. They followed behind me, swift and silent, but for them this was a game. There were only two ways it would end, I would win and escape or I would lose and I would be dead.

How did this happen?

I frantically flipped through the memories of the past few days, but the more I looked the more I realized the inevitability of this fate.

They had been after me since the start. Since the first murder made a newspaper headline, their fate was tied to mine.

They had been watching me since the beginning. The shadowy shapes of their faces and eyes following me through the windows and down the streets.

I should not have gone to the house that day, but I needed to say some apologies. There would be no apologies. Only blood, a corpse, them with me.

How did this happen?

I asked again and again, yet this was inevitable, I should have known.

They had followed me since the beginning all the time. Their footsteps aligned with mine softly, quietly, in perfect time. I’d see them, but for others there’d be no sign.

I should not have found them with the corpse that day. I knew who it was, there would be a price to pay.

And so they chased me down the house’s many halls. They followed close behind and let their steps stay in time with mine. For this was just a game, they will catch me and they know.

Walking with leisure when I slow down, leaving trails of blood on the walls and the ground. A knife scars the walls we pass, toying with the idea of how long I’ll last.

I do not want to face it, I do not want to see. This was inevitable from the beginning.

They had been coming closer since the beginning. The people I knew, who I told my secrets to. They had it down to an art, one by one they had gone to depart, and soon they would come to stop my heart.

I ran down the most complex halls and into the dark. I thought I had lost them, I thought I could get away. I ran around the corner, but there was the murderer inches away. With a shatter we collided, palm against palm, face against face, heart against a knife.

As I stood from the floor they stood as well. I had lost the game and would be put to rest with a knife in my chest. I reached for the knife, but what I found was a glass shard. I looked and found the knife on the floor and looked at the murderer in the glass, shattered as the façade fell apart.

How did this happen?

I had to face what I had known from the beginning. They had been after me since the first headline. Do you not see? They have been with me since the start. The murderer was with me here in my heart.