It's not over.

"You stupid bitch."

A fist as angry as it was strong flew into her unprotected stomach. She bent over in immense pain, in more than one way. A second blow came soaring to the back of her head, sending her plummeting to the filthy floor.

She doesn't know or even understand why he does this to her. Is it love when one can take such a severe beating from someone or just fear? Her heart beat starts to slow down more and more everyday, it won't be long until she's dead. She believes that she needs him to live, that she needs him in her life. I've watched them for a long while and it's very obvious that he needs her, not the other way around. Any day she could just get up and leave him and actually live for once but instead she stays here, a slave to her emotions.

Love is blind.

She doesn't know how things ended up like this either, I do but I cannot tell her. She keeps asking herself if it's her fault. She has to ask herself because she's a ghost of a person. I've seen what happens to people when they end up a living ghost. They drift through day by day but don't realize that they're dead. Everyone else sees right through them and doesn't care about what happens to them at all. They much rather not think about it.

Love traps you.

I guess you can say that she's pretty much dead by now, she's been reduced to rubble. Only a few days longer can she survive naturally, unless someone saves her. She feels nothing anymore, physical pain seems almost like a tingle to her now and the taste of blood is normal. I watch him beat her now and she's like a punching bag for him, a bad day at work means she gets beat. She's always to blame it seems.

This is not love.

She's still breaking, hardly. Another fist comes and strikes her in the already black eye. He hasn't said a word this whole time. He hasn't even given her a reason.

This is pure hate.

One more blow to her broken and bruised face seemed to satisfy him, if someone can really find satisfaction in this. I could see her feel a wave of relief; she was ready to live once more.

Is it over?

He walks over to the kitchen in their one bedroom apartment and grabs the butcher knife. It's not over until she can't sing. Her eyes are closed; she is blind. He finishes off his daily bottle of vodka early tonight and smashes it against the floor.

There there, everything will be over soon.

A cruel smirk stretches across his hate-filled face. Her eyes just barely slide open to see his smirk and his knife. She attempts to get up but fails miserably and falls back down. Her beaten legs just can't hold her body anymore; she's washed up. She tries to scream but nothing comes out of her dry throat.

She is alone.

The knife doesn't slit her tiny throat, no that would be way to civil for this human. He takes the knife and chops her neck into little pieces of flesh and bone and sends them flying all over the apartment too. Blood stains the walls and his hands are red. His hands are red with hate and her blood. I walk over and steal away her soul, she would be safe with me. He's finally satisfied however.

It's not over.

The door slams against the floor and a gunshot is let loose through the apartment. He falls to the blood bathed ground and lies there with her in death. I leave his soul there begging to be taken away, and walk away laughing.

Now it's over.

-Zero