Dear Killer, My Lover

Written by Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik |
Published on:

If you wake, you will not remember me. You will not remember you. You will not remember anything. So allow me to inform you on the subject of the summer that has passed, though my memory is still hazy. Where to begin? The day we met? The day we kissed? The day you stole me away and brought me here? The day I found a home. 


After hours of meandering, wondering lanes, pathways, and tracks, which you drove along at such a speed, I wouldn’t be able to catch a glimpse of our location (not that I could anyway, I was blindfolded). I just remember the soft gentle rocking motion as you drove the car up high into the mountains in circles until I couldn’t remember how many twists and turns we had made. You talked to me along the way. Told me what was going to happen. I just listened. Lost in a deadly pool of my own thoughts. I was drowning. Now I am surfacing. When we finally parked, your rough hands were soft and gentle as they grabbed me and dragged me from the warmth of the velveteen boot of your Mercedes. You brought me inside the cabin, sat me upon a leather chair, and bolted the door hurriedly as if you assumed I was planning some sort of daring escape. How could I be? I’d never been to the cabin before. Silly boy… 


You gave me a cup with a liquid inside as I asked you when I would be allowed to see again and you informed me that you would permit my sight as soon as I’d finished the drink. I began raising the china cup to my lips as you softly ran your strong hand through my raven hair and let it rest around the nape of my pale neck so its movement was confined. Gently you took the cup from me, and raised its smooth china to touch my dry ruby lips and ignited an unblinking, unyielding spark within me, reaching every part of my brazen body. I drank the thick tasteless liquid deeply and your hand tightened around my neck so your fingertips reached my jaw bone. Lightly, you caressed it. Loved it. Needed it. Lowering the cup, you stayed true to your previous promise and undid the black satin blindfold with one hand and allowed it to flutter, with the sweet grace of a butterfly, to the wooden floor. 


I looked up at you.


Your eyes met mine and the fiery spark within me grew ever stronger. The blue of your eyes was the electrifying blue of a summers’ day. I wanted to caress you. Love you. I needed you. And in an odd way, I still do. You gave me a strange knowing smile that seemed to glance right through my soul and I found myself smiling back. I did not want to smile back but something within my soul compelled me to. Of course, it was the spark.


You continued this for days or weeks or maybe even months, the concept of time is always forgotten in the end. All I remember was when you brought me upstairs, locked the door, and bent slightly and our waiting wanting lips made desperate loving contact for the first time since you’d taken me away. Since you had given me a home. Since that first kiss, we could not stop. We were addicted. At least I was. Not that I would ever tell you. 


So allow me to fast forward, every day you had given me another cup of thick, frothing liquid which I drunk gladly, as a child, nourished by warm milk. And as I drunk, I began to grow weaker in my memories. I could hardly remember the drive, or the feel of the leather chair or even the soft kind love in your rough touch. But that day felt different. I was troubled. Something was about to change. Someone was coming for me. After our morning kiss, I heard it; sirens. The brutal deafening sound, so loud it reverberated around my brain until what little comprehension I had depleted. I told you we had to go and despite your refusing, I grabbed you and dragged you out of the cabin.  I couldn’t have you get caught simply for loving me. I grabbed your keys and started up the car engine. The sirens were getting louder more deafening. I drove as fast as I could up the trailed and tracks and pathways further until I could not remember where I had started. 


Then it happened.


My foot slipped.


Me, you and the silver Mercedes flew until the side of the rough mountain. All I saw was your brazen body slumped against the dashboard. Still breathing. Then I was gone too. 


So I confess. Perhaps there were no sirens. Perhaps I’m out of my mind. Perhaps I tried to kill you. Perhaps I have succeeded. Perhaps I will wait here, staring into the mountains forever, dreaming of the possibility of jumping into the unloving depths of the beyond. I press charges against me. A life for a life. I cannot live in a world where you do not love me. 


Until we meet in paradise,


Your Killer, Your Lover


Copyright ©

Author: Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
I’m 15 and Interested in history and English. I dream of being an author in the future.


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