Through the Window
By Sanguinary Red
He watched her from the kitchen window.
The rain fell down, covering the ground, covering her. The rain was red like blood and it stained the white shirt and pants that she was wearing. It ran down her upturned face, covering her face in a sheet of crimson. She is half-insane with joy; her mindless, wordless shout reaches his ears though the glass. If any other man had seen her right now, he would have run away, leaving her alone in the blood-rain. But she is for his eyes only.
And he loves her for it.
He first met her a few months ago. She had been so quiet, so painfully shy. Unable to say more than a few words without blushing, she had separated herself from all of the other patients. When he first saw her, he knew that he had to know her.
Had to have her.
It took a while to gain her trust and to convince her that he wasn't after
her secrets. He just wanted her company, wanted to know her. As she become braver and bolder, he let her see more of his world.They left the asylum less than a week ago. She, discharged into his care. He, legally sane and mentally competent. But that doesn't matter anymore.
She's dancing in the rain, letting it wash away whatever failures she might have. He loves her in this moment, in this minute of abandonment. He loves her unconditionally.
Slowly, he opens the utensil's drawer and pulls out the butcher knife. He waves to her, feeling love swell within him. She waves back, gesturing for him to join her.
He walks for the door, knife clutched in his hand. He knows he loves her. And now, he'll show her his love, the way he's showed his love to others before.
They way he will in the future.
He walks though the door, entering the rain. It's cool and the night feels
right. Everything feels right.And she's waiting for him.
Waiting for his love.
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3.15.2002