A Dance Of Lost Love

• Jessica Adshead, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2014

She floats and dances in front of me, her hair drifts on the wind that caresses her skin. I can’t feel that breeze though, no one can, only her. She’s dead you see, not here nor there, stuck in between nothing and everything. The door creaks as she passes it and I watch as she disappears into the dark shadows of the old house, she appears again and beckons me with a small, pale hand. The summer air turns ice cold when I step through the door way, she smiles at me and I stare at her neck as the skin begins to tear itself, much like in my memories and dreams. I follow her as she dances up the stair case, to the piano tune branded into my mind and her death, she waits for me at the top and I take slow steps up the creaking stairs, keeping my eyes on her as her veins surface, creating a purple map across her fair skin. The blood drips from her neck and stains the white shirt she had worn specially for her 17th birthday.

I reach the top of the staircase and her light, rose-pink lips are a twisted smile as she stumbles down the hallway, banging into the walls leaving blood trails from the now openly flowing gap in her throat. Her mad laugh echoes through the shadows to where I stand holding the top of the banister, a light flickers on in a room and I follow the light down to the ajar door and watch her shadow flicker in the slither of light. I push the door open fully with the tips of my fingers. She stands in the room in front of the only piece of furniture, a mirror. Her fingers claw at her throat, ripping the skin further, she turns to me. Her shirt is scarlet red and her skirt hangs heavy, there is a dripping sound, blood falls from the edges of her skirt to the floor where her feet rest in a puddle of her own blood. It creeps along the wood towards me. She turns back to the mirror.

My shoes make a faint splashing sound as I walk and stand next to her. I see my reflection, a black haired man with dark circles under his eyes, her reflection is not there though; the girl I love has none. I look to her and she is watching me, her eyes burn with a want of vengeance and I now understand how deep that want burns. She moves closer and I shiver as an icy cold hand runs up my chest to hold the back of my neck.

Her grotesquely sharpened, blood stained nails pierce through my throat. The last sight I see is of black, glassy eyes shining with glee as I fall forwards and we share our last embrace.

Because you see, I'm the one that killed this lost love of mine.