The Death of Me Beloved
The inverted commas open softly...
1. She always obeyed the rules. This killed her. That afternoon she and I were going to dine in a little restaurant somewhere in the intricate curves of the little central streets. I was the first to arrive, so I stood waiting for her. She appeared on the other side of the street, I waved to her. Before crossing the street, she looked to the left, then in the middle of the road, to the right. But that was a one-way road. The car coming from the right killed her...
2. She had very long, beautiful hair. This killed her. She would always curl her hair with an electric circling-irons. That day she was in a hurry, so she decided to take a bath and curl her hair at the same time. Well, her hair turned out to be too long, and the water too wet, and the voltage too high...
3. She could swim fairly well. This killed her. I was a poorer swimmer. She felt at ease in the water, while I grew nervous when I couldn't feel the sand beneath my feet. That day we were swimming in the Troparevo lake. She was swimming on her back. When you swim on your back, you can't see or hear anything. And I'm not even reproaching those two on a small catamaran. When they struck her, I was at the shore. Never in my life have I swum so fast. We dived several times. I couldn't save her. It was our first kiss, by the way...
4. She smoked too much. This killed her. It was neither asthma, nor lung cancer. It was just a little Zippo lighter I gave her. Choosing it, I thought it would look nice in her hand. The fire in Zippos doesn't go out even when you let the button. The curtain enflamed at once, next to it stood a working television... They couldn't save her...
5. She loved dancing. This killed her. There was a dancing party that night in the Hungry Duck. We drank some Hooch, and she decided to dance on the bar stand - they allow such kind of stuff in the Hungry Duck. Hooch is a sly beverage. It tastes like lemonade but there are 4% alcohol in it. She drank seven bottles. I think it was too much for her. The bar stand was about a meter high. The spine is a vital but, alas, delicate part of the body...
6. She loved punk-rock. This killed her. We went to the concert of "Time-Out". That was probably an act of protest by some of the drunk teenagers sitting on the balconies of the hall. Usually they don't sell beer in glass bottles on such concerts - that was an unusual day then... He threw in into the air. What is stronger: glass or bone? Evident... She loved "Time-Out" till her own death...
7. She was a very tidy girl. This killed her. She couldn't stand any untidiness. That day she decided to wash the windows. The windowsill was slippery, and she lived on the 12th floor... She never thought she'd die such a trivial death... Let's give her another chance?
8. A lightning. A ball lightning. It simply appeared in the room through the open window. She stepped back instinctively. She clutched the windowsill with her left hand, but the nails were too long... Her body was already dead when it reached the ground...
The inverted commas closed slowly, with a nasty sound...
9. I called it love. I don't know whether I really loved her or it was simply my wish to love her. I only know that I felt so good when she was with me. Sometimes it was nice, sometimes terrible, but it was always good. And our communication would please me and the masochist living inside of me. But she would call it "dirty harassment". And would always add that I had no chances. I loved walking off with her along small street and wide avenues of Moscow, talking. And as night fell, I had the image of a bed appearing in my mind. But she never had such kind of visions - I mean, never with me. Maybe this is why I've written all these eight deaths. My bad is heavier than usual today... And I don't quite understand why I have brought this composition to her and asked her to read. She read in silence and wasn't very careful, at least I though so. Sometimes she would read slower, probably unable to read my writing. She smiled twice. Once looked at me. Do I want a serious talk? Yes, I do want a serious talk. She isn't going to sleep with me... But it wasn't what I really wanted to talk about. But then the masochist inside of me suddenly took the leading role. I tried to kill him so many times... Cry, she said, it might help. And this nasty smile. I can't hate her. And I cannot cry either. Why is my bag so heavy today? I take out a large box and open it. There are several knives... a set of knives. I take out the knife number three, and she says:
"Oh, don't pretend you're going to slash your wrists. Not with this toy."
Her eyes... Oh god, her eyes! Sometimes they are pure and clear like a child's, but sometimes they are full of cynicism. Just like now. I step towards her. The knife is in my hand. She never took me seriously. She NEVER took me seriously! This killed her...
She was catlike. A catlike walk, a catlike curve of her spine. Her eyes were green. The legend says all cats have nine lives. And I killed her eight times on the paper. Now she had no chances. Not a single chance...
Original Author: Oleg Ovchinnikov (1997).