Chekhov's Gun, Part 1.

After many months of searching and looking,
i finally moved out into my own apartment.
Hoo-Hah! +15 Experience Points!
But internet's a bitch here,
so i'm just lucky i get this much at this point.
For, enjoy this story i wrote.



I was once a lover in the early days of my life. It was most exciting when I had someone to love. I would stare at your picture from day to night, only wondering the time we would spend. But on that rainy Sunday evening, gunshots stormed the sky, like thunder, as the gods claimed another life. I look close to your body and cried a million tears. It was just all one bad nightmare and it shook me every night. I became almost afraid to sleep. And so, I wish you dream of the sweetest dreams, from now ‘til forever.
Ever since your death, the world has become black and white, all in one heavy haze. The police haven’t found a clue. No witnesses, no evidence. Paramedics found two bullets into the body. First bullet went straight to the heart, but it only caught in agonizing pain. The second went straight to her lungs, as implied by the empty corpse, it was searching for air. The police asked me some questions about the crime. I couldn’t tell them anything. I was asleep at the time of the crime. Her suicide kept me silent. Her death made me summoned the sorrow of a thousand rainy days. Always when I was awake. Always when I was asleep.
Before, I had better dreams. Blurry, maybe even weird every once in a while, but usually better. I’d pictured open plains, so green while moving in the wind; Citylights from far away it looked like a constellation; or maybe desert sands dancing around the forgotten oasis, with springs sparking though sunlight. But never, I had dreams so vivid and graphic. Over and over again, with the same soft face, she was crying tears of blood with the demons surrounding her, showing only a smile. He was just hiding under a shadow glazed with a wicked innuendo. I was trapped in only agony and in pain, as going to sleep was like going to war with the devil himself. And he was winning.
I walked alone to your house today, beneath a purple sky in a sullen day. I just lived across the street, on the third floor of my apartment. As I passed the yellow tape and stood outside your door, I saw a dirt garden with nothing but dust and welted flowers. I remembered there used to be a flower garden growing at the edge of your door step, where you always sat down and enjoyed that blissful smell of tulips. Now, there’s nothing more then dust and dirt, and a hole in the ground where the yard once was. Graffiti reigns against your house wall and broken glass from the window take the place of where those rosebushes were. I walked inside to find it a mess. There was a book on the floor, a rusty clothes hanger left beside a fallen coat rack and broken glass everywhere. The smell of old blood had stained the carpet taken that smell of roses. Even though the presence gave me nausea, there was nothing more then just the sweet memory of what this place once was. I never believed we should be far apart, because can only be stretched so far apart. But with you gone, everything has gone dead.
I always came by and left you tulips, by your grave. I knew that you wanted to smell them where your spirit was. I’d always loved its variety of colors, so bright and mellow. I think it expresses the how graceful the sun rises after a storm. As it rises, it shows deep serenity and splendor though colors of red, purple, blue, and yellow. But, those days are gone. Everything has become black and blue, with shades of only gray. I lay these flowers on your tombstone.
The night had groan cold. In the light, the falling rain was dead white before it was covered in a sheet of darkness; I stood right across your tomb. I used my new coat to protect me against the cold winds. Though it was a little heavy, I felt quite warm. The tree near your grave gave me a shade against the radiant moon and the violent rain. I don’t know why I was afraid of moon. I guess I must have watched too much horror movies. In one belief, it’s said that on the night of the full moon, the spirits were to be raised into the afterworld, where there souls could rest in peace. It was as if the moonlight was the path to show their way home. I wasn’t sure if you would leave just yet. I didn’t want to leave you alone. And I didn’t want you to go away.
At the stroke of midnight, the town’s clock tower rang its bell. I was becoming more and more drowsy, second by second. I tried my best not to doze off. Luckily, the sound of the bell will keep me awake. It usually rings twice, maybe three times all across the town. Even the residents living on the outskirts could hear the clock tower. But tonight was different. It didn’t stop after third ring. Nor it did at the fourth, the fifth, or even the sixth. It soon got louder. And louder. And louder. As the bell continued to ring, the ground started to shake, and a rumble had shaken the land viciously. Like the clocktower, it has yet to stop. Suddenly, cadavers rise from the ground, most violently and malicious. As the corpse rise from their shallow graves, I began to grow scared. Their lifeless eyes give me a sullen gaze and which led to a violent attack. They grab me by the leg and dragged me to a grave. I was trapped.......