it's funny, the look on a person's face in the moments after the razor splits the skin of their throat. it's always the same. in fact, once you've seen it enough times you start to be able to note the progression of the different stages.

i think her name's melissa. it said melissa on her name tag, but i don't remember if it had one l or two s's or eleven z's or what anymore. she reflexively touches the wound, the blood half-spurting, half-oozing from her neck. the shock on her eyes says she didn't believe i'd actually do it. fucking stupid girl. then she tries to take a breath and most of the air comes bubbling back out, spilling over her nightgown in a torrent of bright red. now she's thinking if only she can press her open palm hard enough against the torn pink meat of her throat, she can stop herself from dying. it won't work. i briefly think to mention this to her, but she won't believe me. just like she didn't believe i was going to kill her. take about ten seconds of this and she figures out her hand isn't going to be able to stop the escaping air or the explosive bubbling blood.

her eyes start darting around the room for something, anything, that she might be able to use to stop herself from dying. if she could just get a breath. but her lungs are filling with blood. she doesn't realize this. tears start from her eyes, tears of frustration more than fear or sadness. she's still hopeful, but she knows she's running out of time.

she reaches for the bedpost to steady herself, but her hands are too slick with warm blood, and she just leaves a bloody trail as they slide down the intricately carved wooden frame. she hits the ground and immediately starts coughing, but it's not a normal cough. it's not just the gurgling sound either that makes it different. the fresh opening in her neck changes the whole pitch of the sound. it's too difficult to describe although i spend a good while contemplating it. i start wishing i could record it, but she makes eye contact with me.

this time there's pleading in her eyes. like i could do something about her dying if i really wanted to. okay, you've made your point, now fix it. fucking stupid girl. i want to kick her in the face but then she coughs with her mouth closed and it completely rivets me, a deep hacking that makes the carpet look like art, and i'm thinking i have just fallen in love with this girl right here. i almost would save her if i could, but then i'm too captivated in anticipation that she'll do it again. she does.

i'm thinking about if i did save her and then she'd eventually forgive me, but then no one could ever know why i saved her because the world would probably see it as morbid and evil. but that's the trouble with evil, isn't it? it never recognizes that it is indeed evil.

then the final stage happens and i can see the panic in her eyes as she tries to find some way to leave a last message to the world, like she would write her own eulogy if she had the time. a sudden violent depression seizes me as i realize i've not been giving this girl the attention she deserves in her last moments and i want to cry out for her and tell her i'll write her eulogy and tell everyone how much she loved them and everything will be okay.

i grab some paper and a pen from the nightstand and put them down in front of her, but she just looks at me with tears in her eyes. she's finally given up hope. and then she coughs with her mouth closed again and the paper collects the scatters of the subdued ebb of blood from her neck wound. i start to cry with her. it hurts, i know. i feel it every time. she can't understand, but i experience the dying everytime i watch it in someone's eyes.

her head droops onto the wet carpet and she stares at the wall behind me. i stroke her face and try to wipe most of the blood from it. she's not wearing makeup and looks all the better for it. i'm weeping now and thinking that before she dies, i want to show her that i love her. i gently roll her over and open up her nightgown, the belt is already loosed and i thank her silently for the invitation. her breasts are pale and beautiful. they're soft to the touch, but i don't have much time. i unzip my pants to find my cock already hard. it springs out and i quickly part her legs.

i slowly ease myself into her. after only a few seconds, i'm coming, but i think she's already gone. i try not to think about it, but eventually, i fall limp onto her and weep into her breasts.

i think about maybe keeping one of her green eyes. before i leave i take the small piece of paper, speckled with blood, and shove it into my pocket.

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