The frigid water numbs my hands as I rinse her blood off.  The stark contrast of red on the bright white of the marble sink is a momentary work of art.  Slowly, the red fades into streamers of light pink as it mixes with the water before it spirals around the silver drain and disappears.  I am struck with a brief lapse into hilarity as I think 'someone is stealing my blood!'

 
            I didn’t want to kill her.
 
            She made you do it.
 
            Now the knife is in need of a good washing, so I run it under the water as well. Once again I am mesmerized by the flash of red as it fades to pink before I am forced to wash my hands all over again.  
 
            The sticky blood is being stubborn; perhaps I should’ve used the warm water… It just so happens that I turned the cold water on and I don’t want to leave additional traces of myself at the crime scene. Believe it or not I don’t want to get caught.
 
            Don’t look in the corner…
 
            I catch my gaze in the mirror and watch the man staring back at me with a calm-coolness about him. One would never assume that man had just committed a heinous crime, he looks so together, so frighteningly normal.
 
            I can’t feel my hands.
 
            I grab the towel off her bathroom rack and dry my hands, then I use the towel itself to turn the water off while polishing the spigot, hoping to remove any potential prints.
 
            Are those sirens?
 
            Don’t look in the corner.
 
            But I do look in the corner and see the body of my former lover lying there naked and brutally slaughtered.  There is a stab wound below her left breast, the terminal wound, one would guess.  It was one hell of a shot, there wasn’t even a snag of a rib on the blade of my knife, it went in so softly and she dropped into a lifeless heap on the floor.
 
            I can’t look away. She is art; the blood in the sink was art… I can’t believe she let me in.
 
            I hear sirens.
 
            Yet I can’t move. It is as though I am wearing concrete boots as I continue to stand here and watch a stream of blood trail from somewhere beneath her to a small pool that is forming in front of her toilet.  Her body, blood in the sink, red pool in front of the toilet, they are all art.  
 
            My back is stiff, I hear sirens, and my neck makes that creaking sound when I turn my head… They are all art as well. And I do hear sirens, they’re getting closer. 
 
            Her body, the bathroom walls and the pool of blood all begin to fade as I faint into consciousness and catch a glimpse of the cool blue 7:34 staring back at me.  I turn the alarm off and look at her lying there in bed next to me and think 'I hope she never makes me kill her.'


 

© 2008 J. James Reider