The Legend of the Tell-Tale Heart

    We took a drive. A casual one. A usual one. We drove up to the mountains. The winding road ahead was constantly shifting in and out of view. I didn't eat before I left home. I didn't really feel like it. Now I was having a cigarette on an empty stomach. She watched. I cried. She stared as I wept. We stopped at a rest stop. We made love. I continued to drive. We made it a few miles. I stopped to piss. She didn't have to. I got back in the car. She was sleeping. I held her hand. I started driving.

    She was still asleep. I took her out of the car. I cried harder than ever. Dirt flew. Metal glinted in the moonlight. A windless night—a perfect one. My vision was blurred. I shoved her. She took it. I left. I drove back down the mountain. I stopped at the rest stop. I had a cigarette. Now I had time. All the time in the world.

    At home, I slept. I slept sound, considering what happened. I tossed and turned. I couldn't handle it anymore. It was killing me. I felt like that guy, in that story. Or was it a poem? I couldn't remember it at the moment. It was the one with the heart. The heart underneath the floorboards. Or was it a body? And the guy heard the heartbeat. And he went crazy. That's what I was. I heard the heartbeat. I heard it and it was driving me insane. I cried. I laughed. I cried again. I screamed. No longer could I bear it. No longer could my own heart take it. It couldn't take the knowledge. It couldn't take the sound.

    I hit the wall. I hit it as hard as I could. Broke my hand. Didn't feel pain. Now I do. I kicked the wall. Broke my toenails. Didn't feel that too. Now I feel that, too. The silence choked me. The sound swallowed me. I tried to fight it. I tried to hit it back. I cut myself. I tried to end it. I took pills. I threw it all up. I drank. I threw that all up too. I felt no love. I felt no pity. I felt no sadness. I was light. I was drifting. I smiled. I tore out some hair. I clawed my face. I laughed. It was joyous. I loved it. I hated it.

    I killed it. I killed her. I buried her. 6 feet deep and 7 feet wide. A part of Mother Earth. I was guilty. I confessed. I called the cops. They came. I broke my hand, I clawed my face. I cut my wrists, I threw up. I broke my toenails, I tore out my hair. They saw me. I cried. They injected me. I felt… still…

    I awoke in a hospital. The white room slightly blinded me as I stared around at the walls. I didn't want to be in this dreadful place, but I knew I had to. I was pretty banged up, and the doctors said that I was in terrible shape. They said that I was lucky to be alive. I cried again, but it hurt. After I recovered, I thought they would send me to jail. They didn't. They sent me to a mental hospital. There I stayed for several years. I forgot the sound of anything good on television. I forgot the taste of the outside air. I forgot the exhilarating feeling as I crested the hill on a rollercoaster. I missed the wind in my hair, and the sound and sights of cars.

    I finally got home. They gave me these pills that make me feel great. I don't remember much of what happened that night, just bits and pieces, like photographs. I only remember certain pictures or clips of that night. I hope the pills they gave me take those pictures away. I couldn't stand to know why I was suddenly alone. I couldn't stand to know why people avoided me in my neighborhood. I hated them. I hated them all. But, for some reason I didn't. I didn't hate them all. In fact, I loved them dearly. I loved them as if I was their father, and they were my children. I loved them to death. I still don't know why, but I'm trying to figure it out. I'm trying to piece my life back together. I'll never do drugs, I'll never drink. I'll never have sex, I'll never own a pet. I'll never have kids, I'll never have a wife. Because I'm afraid. Not afraid of having sex, or doing drugs. I'm not afraid of having kids, a wife, and a cute little dog. I'm not afraid of them, I'm afraid for them. Afraid of what I could do. Afraid of what I've done.

    Sometimes at night, I awake with a start. I think that I can hear that heartbeat. When that happens, I go to the bathroom and wash my face. I take a pill, and calm down. I close my eyes, and when I open them, I can swear that I see her. I can swear for a split second that I see her and in her eyes, all the shit I've done bores into my heart. And my heart beats. It beats quicker than ever. It beats furiously in my chest, and I think I'll have a heart attack. But I soon realize that she isn't there and I shake my head. I lay back down in bed and close my eyes. However, my heart would still be beating. Slower, now that I've lied down. However, I can hear it. I don't feel the thumping, but I can hear it. The beating of the Tell-Tale Heart.

 

This is what I've written. I don't really know, I like it a lot. Tell me what you think!

--Jon