Word Count: 174
Story Notes: I had this little drabble in an old notebook. I liked the concept, so I re-worked and re-wrote it.
A radio was playing softly; an old
rounded contraption covered in dried blood. A hand, stained red, reached up and
gently caressed the wooded surface. It turned the knobs and increased the
volume. This was the best part. The pitch of the violins rising mournfully;
they could almost make you cry out in pain, they were so beautiful.
The red streaks scattered over the
hand-me-down music player stood out in fascinating contrast to the pale wood.
It needed to be cleaned. A sob broke from a throat already too cracked from
crying. The music, once so calming was no longer doing the trick.
The deed had been done. There was
no way to turn back time. No way to right what had been wronged so violently
last night. The violins cut suddenly. The song had ended. This was it. With a
click, the hand turned off the radio.
There was a deep breath and green
eyes finally looked back the bloody mess that had once been a person.
Venus lay dead on the floor.
