She knelt there on the dusty, stained carpet that stung her ****** knees through torn nylons. The lighting was bad and the air was heavy. Her frame shivered in the warmth of the cheap hotel room of which she wasn’t even sure how she made it to. Her chest rose and fell violently as tears stung across her cheeks and fell like bullets to her sides. Her heart, or what was left of the mutilated muscle, pounded against her ribs like mallets to a vibraphone. She could no longer feel the pain.

Her weak hands grasped the handle of the blade like a child holds mother’s hand, and she realized then that the furniture here wasn’t waiting for her to put on a show. There were no cameras. There was no microphone. No people. No bodies. No eyes. No ears. She was alone. There was no use imagining it as a heartbreaking scene in a movie; a tear inducing, award-winning music video; a postcard. But she moved like a dancer in her mind’s eye as she tightened her grip on the knife in her hand and a tear played across her lips, now bringing in air between them softly and lightly; barely alive. All she wanted was for him to burst through the door, screaming, and run to her; and hold her. She imagined it in her mind; she thought of the whole act, but she wasn’t sure when his lines were. She waited, hesitated as the ceiling refracted shadows of a different world with each passing car on the highway that brought her far from home and into comfort now torn from her soul. No one was running to her, no one was chasing after her, this time.

The blade plunged deep into her chest with an unstoppable force from something preternatural within and without her. Her breathing was fast and harsh as her eyes darted around the room they had shared briefly. Her head spun faster than the walls. The red stain grew across the front of her dress like a flower blossoming. Tears filled her mouth as she finally accepted the realization that she would die here alone and he wasn’t going to find her just in time like in all the stories; even the real ones.

She fell gracefully like feathers from the sky to the floor, to her side. As she bled out she hoped she would think of all of the beautiful moments she had experienced in her life. She hoped she would think of all of the things in life that used to make her happy. She hoped she would think of his face, his touch, his smile, and her love for him.  She hoped she would regret her choice. She hoped she would feel something, anything at all; but all she could think about was how she’d like to notify management about the collections of dust and small debris under the bed left behind by housekeeping. Her lifeless eyes began to close and she knew for the first time she would actually get some rest. In her last moment she felt like the universe; beautiful and infinite and empty. She faded from the world like snow on warm skin as the door opened in slow motion and his blurry shoes couldn’t carry his body to her side, like in all the stories; even the real ones.

He knelt there on the dusty, stained carpet. The lighting was bad and the air was heavy. His frame shivered in the warmth of the cheap hotel room of which he had only paid for hours earlier. He collapsed into himself, weeping silently, wishing he still loved her.