Point Of View Of A Murder Victim – A Short Story

“He did not want to spill a drop of her scent.” – Perfume, Patrick Suskind

That scent consisted of a dead soul which I could once call mine. However, all of my insecurities, fears and memories were sucked out of me one lethal breath at a time by a man who thought that without this, without my scent, his life would lack meaning. At first, all was silent and I could only feel the cool breeze of the wind and the cold chill of his presence which seemed to suffocate me long before he did. As I turned around covering myself, as if ashamed of my naked body, I saw him standing before me. My body went numb and inside I began to cry however I was helpless. Two large, rough, firm hands and two dark unseen eyes found their way conquering my body, burning a hole through my hope. I gasped for air. My throat began to close and the pressure surrounding my neck began to build. The world began to fade. At first, I tried to fight to keep the beauty around me alive but the pain became overwhelming and intense. Too much for me to keep fighting and so I finally just gave in to the man overpowering me. Strangely enough, as I was dying, I had never felt more alive.


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