That Night

Prologue
That night, my life changed. I no longer saw anything positively, but rather focused on negatives. The phrase "look on the bright side" made me gnash my teeth, pinch myself or even pull out strands of my hair to keep sane. I know you're probably asking what could have caused this, and probably thinking that I had a run-in with a hideous monster, viciously attacking me, scarring me both physically and emotionally. But that's not the case. You see, I'm being haunted by not another, but myself. Part I The sound of a baby laughing is adorable. Most people love it, unless you're an anti-socialist that hates children. I was listening to a younger cousin toss a ball back and forth and laugh at it, like it was some type of a circus act. Watching this seeming hypnotic act, the rhythmic beat of the ball bouncing off the wall, rolling back into his hands, and the squeaking laugh as it came, I recieved a phone call from a number I didn't recognize, and the user ID was a string of gibberish. The soft vibration in my hands and the wild piano playing as my ringtone seemed to excite the baby, who by now was crawling over to me. I threw hisoftball back to where whe was playing and tentatively hit the green "accept" button. When I put my phone to my ear, I couldn't really hear much, except for a mild pulsing noise, much like a human heart. As I went to hang up, assuming a prank call, I began to hear muffled voices chatting. Listening in carefully, I found one, a male who couldn't have been much older than 30,  to sound sort of interrogative, and the other, a female obviously under 25, pleading, as if she was being mugged. I began to feel slightly concerned as to what was happpening. I shooed the child out of the room, and put the call on speakerphone. The sounds were somewhat amplified now, but still very fuzzy. After a few seconds, I began to hear odd banging, followed by screaming. And then a whining drone-like noise kicked in. Listening in shock, the pitch of both increased until the screaming ceased and the buzzing reduced to nothing. At this point,  the  other voice began to talk to someone else, until the call cut abruptly. Frozen in terror, I had not much option other than to call *57 and wait until I recieved a reply.

Part II
"Hello," it said, monotonously, "We have recieved your report and upon investigation, suspicions of foul play have been raised. Officers are currently being dispatched to both your current location and the location of the call. Thank you for using the REACT CallFile system. Have a nice day." After hearing this call, abstracted thoughts raided my head, some linked, others not, all seemed to play a core purpose in one thought. If I was correct in this assumption, then I had just witnessed my ex-girlfriend's murder.

Part III
It became blindly obviously once I thought about it. Those voices were oddly familiar, but it was hard to notice over the static and muffled audio. And now, their faces slowly faded into memory. He had dirty blonde hair, combed somewhat upwards. Most of the teeth in his mouth were immaculate, all except for one golden tooth. His skin could be considered the opposite though, marred with acne and spots. That night, he wore a grey hoodie, black jeans, a white shirt, and a pair of old Converse sneakers. Although my ex was something else altogether. Her long, soft brown hair that always ended up veiling her face, no matter how she styled it. You could say it just had a habit of flying around. She used to wear beautiful floral-print dresses, long and flowing with each step. Her amazing sense of humor always was able to prove that there is a best to every bad. But I think the part I loved about her most were eyes. They sort of melted into different colours, fading into green, out as blue, and retaining hints of gray and purple, just for reference,it seemed.

But the girl that died that night wasn't my ex. Taped down with leather and duct tape, she screamed for leniency,  for help, for anything, but her tormentor refused to acknowledge it. Raped and beaten, battered and bruised, most humans would have broken by now, begging for freedom. She didn't, however. The most depressing thing is, her eyes kept their lovely composition and her smile never faltered for the ones she loved, until she finally closed her eyes and gasped her last breath. How would I know? Well, during all of this, I was also taped down to a chair in front of her, watching the spinning sawblade first graze, then amputate her limbs completely. Th is went on until she either died of blood loss or a heart attack, her final wheezing breath crushing my heart and bringing tears to my eyes. Her screams made pain seem innocent, the worst suffering now no worse than a pinprick. I flipped back to reality as the chiming cry that passed as our doorbell went off. Finally, I thought. I strutted over to the door and opened the door, a warm smile on my face. But what I saw instantly made that smile turn into a single tear, that rolled down my cheek, onto my throat, and down along my chest until it stopped just over my stomach. It traveled the same path of the knife from that night.