Tagged: Tim Law

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Whispers

Why didn’t I listen to those who Daniel dated before? The whispers, the rumors, those words I chose to ignore.

“I will love you until the day you die,” Daniel said.

“Until death do we part,” we echoed in the moment we wed.

Now Daniel is telling me it is time to move on. I’m not who he wanted, his love is all gone.

Daniel, I thought our love song would last forever. Now I wonder if you truly loved me ever.

Daniel promised until death do we part. So with his hands around my throat, he stole my heart.

Hunter

They begin as perfection, but somehow they fail. I’m the hunter, so I shall prevail. My dream girl is out there, you’ll see. My one and only, the perfect girl for me. Until I find her, the one who’s the very best. I won’t stop hunting, vow I’ll never rest. I shall whisper those promises girls want to hear. Sweet nothings, forever mores, into every eager ear. Then when they fail, reveal their true self. In my madness, my fury, toss their picture from my shelf. That’s when my mind plans their demise. Before they discover me, and my lies.

Comeuppance

I know you, Daniel, know you true. The wind in the trees whispers about you. I’m not the first girl you promised forever. Not the first to bring you to the end of your tether.

Marriage is a contract, made between two. Death is the only way for it to be through.

You’ve had your share of fun, leaving a trail searching for the one. Did you not realize I’ve got a trail of my own? Suitors were left in my wake, and my love was outgrown.

Ghosts whisper, they don’t lie. They say at my hand you must die.

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Part 1: The Patient

Songbird they called me, showering me with gifts and praise. I sang for everyone, even the Pope. What God giveth, sadly, He must also taketh away.

That was how I ended up at Saint Cecelia’s, a patient of my uncle, Dr. Francis Robertson.

“I will return your sweet song to you,” he promised. “Or I shall die trying.”

I certainly sang, as two hundred and fifty volts passed through me. Six seconds, then ten, and when that did not work Uncle pushed us both past breaking point.

One of us died that day; it sure as hell was not him.

Part 2: Dare

“I’m bored,” complained Suzanna.

The boys loved the arcade, but it wasn’t her scene.

“Where do ya want to go then?” asked Gary.

“Saint Cecelia’s?” suggested the girl, smiling mischievously. “It’s supposed to be haunted.”

Ben shook his head, arms crossed, but Gary and Suzanna would not take “NO” for an answer.

That was how they found themselves wandering the cold, dark halls of the asylum.

“Did you guys know Suzanna Robertson was a patient here?” Suzanna whispered.

“The Songbird?” asked Ben, surprised.

Suzanna nodded.

“She was my aunt, my namesake, I love coming here to listen to her sing.”

Part 3: Song

Will my torment ever cease? Cursed am I to wander these halls, to remember the pain, never to rest. The joys of life, the wonderful memories of a time when my voice gave pleasure, not pain.

Now, when I open my mouth all I release is fury and woe. Those who bear witness to my song have their very souls stripped away.

All but one, she who brings them, time after time. I sense my uncle’s spirit in her, his madness now hers to own. I try to warn the two beside her, but all I can do is scream.