Perched

Your blood soaked eyes came through the sheet as you bent over me, I had no time to think, only time to run. There you were with love and hate in those eyes.

My skin was soaked with blood, never oh never had my skin bled so much. “Where oh where was it coming from”, I screamed inside the pillow I brought to silence me, so you could not find me. You always perched over me. But I only hear our movement, it is far too dark to know how we went downstairs.

We both ran. Distant in the night I saw a figure, and I was running toward this figure in the night. A person I hoped could save me from you and you were running behind me in the dark. Your feet were loud on the wet grass and my feet could not be heard.

No time to wonder.

The harder I ran, the further the figure looked to be. He or she, I cared not. The hope was inside my chest that what it was could help me. You came closer and then passed me. Really? You passed me? How did you not see me? I did not die. I only bled. The blood was still thick upon my chest.

I saw the blood flying back at me from your sheet. It touched my body and leaped higher and higher till my face felt something warm, the blood from you.

Still, no time to wonder.

Then the time was to care. To care why I was not in pain, no pain, only pain where I held the knife. I was too old, no too young, no, just a woman, a person fleeing toward that person in the distance, the person motioning for me to hurry and get there. Oh, no, it was not you. It was not you.

No moon to see that you did not hurt me. It was I.

The person who loved you so that buried the knife deep in your chest, and then I ran and you followed. But it was not your body only your sheet you wore that went toward that figure.

He held his arms out to you and then you left.

There I stood. Not even noticing I had stopped. Yes, you never hurt me. Yes, you were hurt and that Halloween night in the house you said was scary, was where I pushed you onto me as I put the blade deep in your chest. It was always your blood, not mine.

The figure in the distance was the pickup spirit you talked about when we were saying sentences to frighten each other that 31st.

No, it can’t be.

I now see another spirit form and there are many of them coming toward me, None motioning for me; I want to run, but can’t. My pickup spirits are so dark. I will not be with you. They have come for me, our souls to never meet again. We travel to different places. My place scarier than yours where they now tell me will be, oh no, I shall stay within that house, forever and here I speak only to myself as I perch atop the windows to wait for another 31st and two more lovers.