Arrow Rock Literary Journal

I still remember the stars on that night. Diamonds, brilliant white, sparkling in the heavens. The air was cool, refreshing even, carrying the scent of rain from the afternoon. I could see my reflection in the puddles that littered the street. Why was my face so cold? So dead? So devoid of any emotion? It wavered, shifting and distorting with the ripples across the water.

The dark of my shadow stretched across the street, contorted and pulled longer than I was tall. It flickered, dancing in the dim light of the gas street lamps. I stood and watched, reminded of my own dancing earlier that night. The dulcet melody of a cello solo, accompanied by a symphony, echoed through my mind again. I closed my eyes, lifting my face to the sky as I gently swayed with the notes only I could hear.

That melody carried me through the town, past dark storefronts and quiet avenues. Only my footsteps echoed, heels clattering against cobblestone. I didn’t bother to think where I had been or where I was going, I just kept moving. Each step following the music in my mind, each step perfectly in sync.

I found myself on a bridge, a river far below it. A ferry passed through, docking at a port just in sight. The ferry awash in warm yellow light, illuminating couples in all of their colorful evening dress. I watched them leave the boat, some stumbling like newborn deer. Their laughter carried over the bridge, echoing through the night.

I barely heard her walk up to me. My attention elsewhere, the symphony still resonating through my mind drowning out the world. She stood, leaning on the brick railing of the bridge. I could smell her perfume, light and floral. She said something about not wanting to be alone, but I had already started moving, my hand slipping under layers of fabric into my pocket.

I watched her eyes grow wide as I turned on her. My hand warmed by her crimson blood now pouring through her stomach, dripping down the handle of my knife. Desperately she clawed at her stomach, at my arm. Blood staining the dark silk of my dress, I twisted the knife. The symphony reached its crescendo, blood pooling in the rough cobblestone.

The stars were bright that night, cold light mirrored in her motionless eyes.

Cait Boyle is a senior at Lindenwood University. She is majoring in Game Design, with additional minors in both Studio Art and Creative Writing. She often writes short stories in the horror genre. In her free time, she enjoys sewing, drawing, and playing tabletop games with friends and family.