Her long, sturdy neck fit perfectly in my hands. Her silver strings tightened just enough to produce the perfect pitch. Never would I know love without this beautiful Fender, without a melodic string of notes that paired perfectly with the rhythmic beating of drums behind me, the steady bump of the bass. It was coming out of my soul, my heart. I picked her up, and began to play, her body moving perfectly at my every command, her strings humming softly along with my voice. I smiled and slowed as the fire slowly began to engulf the building, my heart rate quickening and my blood beating faster. And outside, I found her.
With every scream, the exhilaration in my stomach pushed me closer to ecstasy. I could feel her chest moving under the blade as I stabbed repeatedly into her heart. This sort of intimacy can’t be found in the bedroom, or even the backseat of your parents SUV. I had never so literally taken someone’s breath away. Her panting and her screams began to bleed together, as the blood in her mouth caused choking and coughing. Her thrusting turned to futile writhing, and her breath slowly subsided. I stood there over what I had done, my heavy breathing mimicing hers. I looked at the beauty I had destroyed, and I couldn’t help but laugh. How could I not laugh? I had saved her. I had saved everything. I had destroyed her here, in this picture of perfection, now preserved in statuesque silence. I had saved her before she’d had time to make herself impure. I was a hero.
And I couldn't help but laugh.
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