Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26369966-20150512184912

The street is silent. I can hear the leaves rustling in the streets. I return back to the house. The house is silent, too. I can hear the beating of my heart bounce off the walls and for some reason, this makes me uneasy. I stay here, watching the leaves dance the streets. I'm wasting away, I fear. Tomorrow's a new day. I think I might leave the house. The sun is burning me. My skin is boiling. My arm is charred. I bring an umbrella. I find her sitting alone. She might need a friend, but I also need friends. I'm Gregory. I'm Margret. Can we be friends? I don't see why not.

I invite my new friend home. She thinks about it. I offer coffee and games. She says yes. We walk back to the street. The street is still silent. It's the middle of the day and I'm making coffee. I close the door.

Her skin is soft. Her eyes are pretty. I might be in love. I watch her sip her coffee. Her lips. Eyes. Skin. Face. Hair. I want to make her mine.

Will you marry me? But we've just met. Doesn't mean you can't marry me. I think I should go.

She gets up quickly and walks towards the door. I run faster. She can't leave. She tries to push me out of the way. I push her on the ground. She's struggling now. I drag her through the house.

She's beginning to scream. The house is loud. I bring her down the steps. Her head hits the stairs. She begins to bleed. I open up the door. I throw her on the mattress. The door is shut. The door is locked. Her screams are muffled. The house is quiet. I give her food. Her ankle is chained. I spend time with her. I tell her my struggles. She listens. She doesn't talk. She never complains. She's perfect. Her tongue is in a jar above the mantle. She use to hit me. I told her to stop. She kept hitting me. She doesn't anymore. Her hands are candle holders. She eats like a dog. She's starting to smell. I clean her with my hose. She doesn't smell anymore. The house is silent. I'm beginning to worry. I go check on her. She's decomposing. The room smells. She is dead. I am alone. She feeds me dinner. She tastes good. I wish I had more. The street is loud. I can see the cops surrounding my home. They are not allowed to enter. They are not allowed to take me away. I hide in the attic, The house is loud. They find the tongue. They find the hands. I'm still hiding. They open the door.

I say, I have to HAND it to you, officers, it took you awhile to find me.

They are not amused. The officers are silent.

What, cat got your tongue? I ask.

Still, nothing. They cuff me. I am being taken away. My cell is silent. 