I was watching the wood just catching fire when it began on that night. I felt a deep burning in my chest coupled with a soft feminine voice in my ear, “do you feel better?” I grumbled and just kept watching the fire waiting for my expected company. I responded to a knock, I went to the door waiting to see some flashing lights, but there was nobody there. I heard more knocking, but it was from my living room. I looked around and the sound emanated from the center, from her.
I just sat back sipping my whiskey, watching the wood burning and charring. The knocking won’t stop and it started to sound like a drum, or rather a heart beat. I looked down at the loose floorboards feeling nauseated from the booze and smell. “why can’t they just hurry up!” I said with irritation throwing my glass getting more annoyed with the sounds. The same voice came again, “You feel better?” Why can’t she just shut up? Isn’t it enough? I thought I finally could get some peace, but now I feel angrier, I feel anxiety, I feel sick. I tried to call 911 again, but the phone became disconnected, no dial tone, just the same words “you feel better?”
I look over at the clock, three in the morning and my guests have not arrived yet. But I see a pale face on the face of the clock staring back. I may be drunk, but this isn’t my mind playing jokes on me. Enraged I punched my clock shattering the glass and spilling my own blood. The knocking keeps going and it’s driving me crazy. I keep punching the clock pouring my blood. I can’t stand this! I get close to the fire and try to warm up because I am feeling much colder. “do you feel better” the voice calls out again. I can’t stop crying now, somehow she still make me seem so weak! I hate it! I hate her!
I stare at the fire grabbing my pistol and typing on my phone. “will that make you better?” the voice asked me. “yes. It will finally stop you from tormenting me!” I tell her as I prepare my gun. I see the lights finally pulling up, so here is my letter to the police. Just listen to my story here as I don’t plan on being able to tell you later. I confess I took her, but in the end she’s taking me. She’s has been a thorn in my side and it felt like fire burning in my heart.
Last week I came home and my wife had dinner on the table, the meal was nice, but she was not. All I heard was her prattle on about so much that didn’t care about. I hated this woman and what made it worse is she was absolutely enamored by me. It was like the harder I pushed the closer she got. So five days ago I came up with a plan. While she was cleaning the living room, I walked behind her and shot her in her head. I had plans to get away with it and buried her under the floorboards. But that night she began to speak to me asking the same thing she asked before I pulled the trigger, “will this make you better?” How dare she ask me that when I was killing her? And now she asks me that all night every night. I can not take this anymore. I can’t describe the anger I feel, the hatred. She just won’t stay dead and she won’t let me find peace. Sorry for this crime scene, but I have to go.
I grabbed the gun and sat in my chair with the bottle of whiskey. I started at the fire, the wood has now been consumed and has become burning ash. The room is growing dark and there will be one more flash of light before red and blue lights fill the room. I still hear her asking me “will this make you better” and I am telling her now, “yes, dear but where I am going, I won’t be. I will be like my fire and be consumed by my own internal fires. My own sins will consume me until there will be nothing while I pray that an angel like you will be where you deserve. This is my last line and the fire is dwindling in me. My soul will be consumed and my flesh will be lifeless. This is my confession, but it is now dark. Good bye.