A Blizzard in May
I know I didn’t kill her. The pigs seem to know otherwise, but I don’t care. They’re wrong. It really was suicide this time—not just carefully pre-meditated murder. I loved May. She just didn’t love the world. Even as a girl, she was sad. As a woman, she was miserable.
I still remember the day we first met. A cheap motel hallway was the setting of the first act. I think it was in Sacramento… no, wait… I’ve never been to California. Anyway, I was leaving my room; she was locked out of hers. She told me she was tired. Then, she collapsed. I remember her skin was too pale to be real. At the time, I thought she was sick. I was naïve.
I left her in my room, and I went about my business (I think it was a mother and her daughter that night). When I came back with blood on my hands, she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she didn’t care. She was writing and drawing… on the motel room walls. She was always strange about things. I loved her for that. I left a fucked-up and run-down pit and returned to a wonderful work of art. She was great. She wrote such wonderful poetry. She was Dr. Seuss with her head in a noose.
I always loved May very much. She was the kind of woman who really made you feel like you had a purpose; like you were doing everything for the right reasons. She was my dream. I could never have hurt her. I could never have killed her. She was always perfect. Alright, I did get a little upset when she killed my dog, but I understand why she did it. She had pure reasons. Besides, Rusty had it coming…
Where was I? Oh, yes… the motel. Maybe it was in Richmond… no, I’ve never been to Virginia either. It was when I took in her twisted works of wall-art that I realized how tormented poor May was. I felt bad for her… I had those things in my head too: horrible fucking thoughts. I guess that’s why I decided to keep her around, unlike all of my other “friends”—I think the paper said I’ve had twenty-seven of them now. Who keeps track these days? I’m not one to brag.
Anyway, May was trekking across the country to “find herself”. I talked her into taking me with her. I didn’t have anything better to do, and in my field, you can do your job on the road. We had some great times on that trip… and some bad. We both almost died, but we both “found ourselves” in the process. Eventually we settled down and found ourselves a place here in Colorado. It was a great house, and we lived there for free after the previous owners mysteriously disappeared. Don’t feel bad… they had it coming…
A wonderful, wonderful year passed by while we explored each other’s souls. Things were so great that I even stopped working for awhile. We loved, laughed, and expanded our minds. We were happy… well, I was. May couldn’t be happy for more than a few minutes a day, but I think maybe I was responsible for those few minutes. I’d like to believe so. I never understood how someone could hate the world so much. Why?
-we have life to make us live
-we have death to make us try
-we have ourselves to make us loved
-we have others to make us different
-we have music to make us happy
-we have silence to make us comfortable
-we have uppers to make us excited
-we have downers to make us numb
-and we have wal-mart so we can buy an exacto-knife at five in the morning if we feel like dying
But sadly, in the last few days, May never cracked a smile. She couldn’t tell me what was wrong, but I knew. She had come to the final conclusion. She knew what had to be done. And that’s why I killed her. I know, I know… I told you I didn’t kill her. Well, in my mind, I didn’t. She killed herself… at least she would have if I wouldn’t have helped her along. But I’m pretty sure she wanted it… I think. And besides… she had it coming…
Epilogue (May):
Life is funny sometimes… especially in retrospect. Those little moments that mean so much, and those years that mean so little. I loved them all. I loved life. I just couldn’t take it in fast enough. I couldn’t harness the power of all those thoughts swirling and battering through my brain like a blizzard. Charlie never understood my intentions toward the world, but I sympathized with his pain. I knew he was unsafe, but I thought I could help him, and I think I did. At least, I would like to believe so. But I couldn’t help enough. He was uncontrollable, and he had to be stopped. I can’t fucking believe what he did to me. He was no better than that goddamn dog of his. That’s why I was poisoning poor Charlie’s food for the last few days. He’ll die soon, but don’t feel bad… he has it coming…
I know I didn’t kill her. The pigs seem to know otherwise, but I don’t care. They’re wrong. It really was suicide this time—not just carefully pre-meditated murder. I loved May. She just didn’t love the world. Even as a girl, she was sad. As a woman, she was miserable.
I still remember the day we first met. A cheap motel hallway was the setting of the first act. I think it was in Sacramento… no, wait… I’ve never been to California. Anyway, I was leaving my room; she was locked out of hers. She told me she was tired. Then, she collapsed. I remember her skin was too pale to be real. At the time, I thought she was sick. I was naïve.
I left her in my room, and I went about my business (I think it was a mother and her daughter that night). When I came back with blood on my hands, she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she didn’t care. She was writing and drawing… on the motel room walls. She was always strange about things. I loved her for that. I left a fucked-up and run-down pit and returned to a wonderful work of art. She was great. She wrote such wonderful poetry. She was Dr. Seuss with her head in a noose.
I always loved May very much. She was the kind of woman who really made you feel like you had a purpose; like you were doing everything for the right reasons. She was my dream. I could never have hurt her. I could never have killed her. She was always perfect. Alright, I did get a little upset when she killed my dog, but I understand why she did it. She had pure reasons. Besides, Rusty had it coming…
Where was I? Oh, yes… the motel. Maybe it was in Richmond… no, I’ve never been to Virginia either. It was when I took in her twisted works of wall-art that I realized how tormented poor May was. I felt bad for her… I had those things in my head too: horrible fucking thoughts. I guess that’s why I decided to keep her around, unlike all of my other “friends”—I think the paper said I’ve had twenty-seven of them now. Who keeps track these days? I’m not one to brag.
Anyway, May was trekking across the country to “find herself”. I talked her into taking me with her. I didn’t have anything better to do, and in my field, you can do your job on the road. We had some great times on that trip… and some bad. We both almost died, but we both “found ourselves” in the process. Eventually we settled down and found ourselves a place here in Colorado. It was a great house, and we lived there for free after the previous owners mysteriously disappeared. Don’t feel bad… they had it coming…
A wonderful, wonderful year passed by while we explored each other’s souls. Things were so great that I even stopped working for awhile. We loved, laughed, and expanded our minds. We were happy… well, I was. May couldn’t be happy for more than a few minutes a day, but I think maybe I was responsible for those few minutes. I’d like to believe so. I never understood how someone could hate the world so much. Why?
-we have life to make us live
-we have death to make us try
-we have ourselves to make us loved
-we have others to make us different
-we have music to make us happy
-we have silence to make us comfortable
-we have uppers to make us excited
-we have downers to make us numb
-and we have wal-mart so we can buy an exacto-knife at five in the morning if we feel like dying
But sadly, in the last few days, May never cracked a smile. She couldn’t tell me what was wrong, but I knew. She had come to the final conclusion. She knew what had to be done. And that’s why I killed her. I know, I know… I told you I didn’t kill her. Well, in my mind, I didn’t. She killed herself… at least she would have if I wouldn’t have helped her along. But I’m pretty sure she wanted it… I think. And besides… she had it coming…
Epilogue (May):
Life is funny sometimes… especially in retrospect. Those little moments that mean so much, and those years that mean so little. I loved them all. I loved life. I just couldn’t take it in fast enough. I couldn’t harness the power of all those thoughts swirling and battering through my brain like a blizzard. Charlie never understood my intentions toward the world, but I sympathized with his pain. I knew he was unsafe, but I thought I could help him, and I think I did. At least, I would like to believe so. But I couldn’t help enough. He was uncontrollable, and he had to be stopped. I can’t fucking believe what he did to me. He was no better than that goddamn dog of his. That’s why I was poisoning poor Charlie’s food for the last few days. He’ll die soon, but don’t feel bad… he has it coming…
