With every tick and every tock there is a twitch.
With every minute passed, she is a minute gone.
Time is seeping into her veins,
twisting them, breaking them,
bruises rise to the surface of her blood spattered skin.
Any moment there should be a knock accompanied with a twitch.
It wasn't that she did not love her.
It wasn't anything she couldn't handle.
How complicated is a little girl?
Marygold's mind
r
a
c
e
d.... with thoughts.
"But we're all mad here!" Her voice was shrill, directed at the shadows, perhaps the tick and tock of the clock.
She twitched.
There was a knock.
There was a twitch.
Out of Marygold's hands
f
e
l
l
her dead daughter's head.
Author notes
My own little serial killer
A contest entry
- Serial Killers by Tattboyspet.
425 points, ended March 6, 2008, 8 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Comments
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Wow, shocked at the ending! Wonderfully done and deeply dark. Awesome imagery and feelings painted throughout. Best of luck in the contest
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Oh my! That is just wrong!
But sadly, it happens way too often too ~shaking head~
I'm assuming that this is the first of many considering as it is a serial killer
thank you for your entry
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I LOVE IT!!!!!!!!
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Geez... Marygold.. killin your own daughter? This was a great read.
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