Inspired by an interesting blog (Written by you) and the story Famously Infamous I wrote this short little story.
It's my turn
It's
my turn now. I know it. But where to hide? Where to seek help?
There's nowhere I could possibly go and nobody who could possibly
help me. It is too late now. I'm
deeply involved. He's here right beside me in my bed.
Two
years I waited for him. Two years I missed him, was faithful, always
visited, brought him whatever he wanted and when he finally was
released I embraced him with all my love and was glad to see him full
of energy, ready to re-start life.
I
didn't see how twisted and screwed he was, took him back into my
house and my bed, had big dreams.
He
hates to be famous for that damned video. Hates being famous for
being pummelled. That video
was the reason for his suffering in prison. All the abuse.
I
thought he had overcome all that. It was over. Nobody recognizes him
anymore. The video is long forgotten.
Until
he told me.
At
first I didn't take him seriously, thought he was joking. But he was
not.
Today
I saw it in his eyes, the desire to be finally caught, to be found,
to be famous of his own accord. He wants to go back, respected and
feared.
Two
months have passed. In the
beginning he always came home filled with joy, satisfied that he did
it again. Seeking approval he told me in detail, how he bought the
knife and stuck it into the next old guy passing the street or went
to buy a gun and shot the vendor. Or the poor
girl he strangled in the park. He was so proud of all these
random kills.
I
did nothing to stop him. Nor did I leave. I thought it would stop,
but it didn't.
The
police never came. Now there is no joy anymore, merely exhaustion.
He's tired, disillusioned.
Nobody
besides me knows what he's
done.
His
thirst for fame is unbroken. I saw it in his eyes. And I'll be
the victim to send him
back to prison as a celebrity.
That's his aim. I'm the target.
Now,
after aggressive and passionate sex, appropriate for the last time,
he's lying by my side. Drunk as usual, breathing hard and snoring.
Torn
between love, fear and hatred I look at him.
He
still has the chance to wake
up.
But
he won't.
It's pretty dark. Basically a serial killer seeking fame, he clearly doesn't know public relations, he should have started bragging about his kills. Your protagonist seems remarkably passive, almost an observer. I can't say whether she is really a victim here or a co-conspirator. She acts like she doesn't like it, but it seems to also give her a thrill. I imagine at the end that she is standing over him with a knife or gun or something and conflicted on what to do. To remain passive is to die, to become active is to risk being caught and for certain becoming like him (though not really, since her act would arguably be self-defence).
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