Blood in the Basement

The basement was cold. I looked down at my hands. Red. I was breathing heavily, I looked up and I could see my breath through the moonlight. My fingers wrapped tightly around a sharp knife. It shone through the small panelled windows, above. For a few seconds as I stood there in shock, the light reflected off the blood – the blood splattered walls, the pool of blood surrounding the victim and blood on the knife itself. As I stood drenched in blood, between the four walls that surrounded me, I admired my work.

My victim was a friend… Or so I thought. He had put me in this position. It all started when I found him in bed with my wife. I walked through our bedroom door one day to find him wrapped around the only person I have ever loved. I had to find a way to let him know he couldn’t have what’s mine.

The planning was meticulous. Every inch of the basement was accounted for. I spent the better of a month getting to know how his house operated. When he was away for any reason I would sneak down the old wooden stairs as they creaked. It was pitch black, aside from the small windows. A single light was placed in the center of the room. Once lit, I was able to develop a seamless plan. I looked to the left and saw a dirty old blue couch, to the right was a few boxes of books and miscellaneous items. Sitting right in front of me was a small white table and its matching chair. This is where I would get my revenge.

I couldn’t take my eyes off him lying helpless on the table. I heard noises coming from outside, bringing me back to reality. With a quickening pace I dragged his corpse up the stairs, step by step until I had escaped the darkness.

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