This is why I have done things that I never imagined I would be capable of, crimes I thought only belonged to the mentally disturbed…

“Stop saying that, you murdering beast. Did you know that you’ve murdered my heart? And now you want to kill our unborn child?”

His body’s heat reached out to me. In that moment, within a moment, every haunting memory miraculously evaporated. It was just Antonio and me and the dirt and the most ruthless obsession ever imaginable, like a huge tree shredder devouring my belly. Instant consumption. No stopping it.

He stopped moving. All bubbles from his nose and mouth stopped springing to the surface. The realisation whacked me. The jolt yanked my legs, and as I dropped to the floor, the wet soaked floor, I felt myself leave my own body. My horrifying actions descended upon me like a sea of murderous waves, and I cried so hard my bones throbbed. Rain had begun to fall outside; pellets belted the pavement just below the bathroom window like an air rifle shooting its rounds continuously. I could feel my old self-sink into the puddle on the floor, and the person I was about to become rose up to enter into the same flesh and bones.

My eyes fixated on the object that the man, walking towards me, held in his hand. My mouth drooped as my hands sank limply at either side of my body. The first time I had seen a man gripping a real machine gun heading straight for me. I froze…

Edging closer, I watched the blood dripping from the bullet wound in the middle of his forehead distorting his face into an evil-looking gargoyle.

If only I had listened to the shrill cry of my sane inner voice:

     “Don’t do it, Isabella. Don’t do it! You know it’s all wrong. Don’t go there! Turn around and go back home, where you belong. Not yours to have. No matter what you feel. Isabella Burne, turn the car around right now and go back. GO BACK NOW!”

     Zoë died because of me. Yes, me; all my fault.

Zoë was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. She is dead now. There is nothing you can do about it. It is over. It was an accident. You did not kill her. Only Antonio knows what really happened. No one else will ever know. You were weak. The two of you were both equally weak; weakness of the flesh. You are human. So many others have done what you did, but not everyone has had to suffer as badly. But, if this had to come out would anyone understand? No one could possibly fathom the passion that ignited Antonio and me.

     Yes, weakness of the flesh. Flesh melting, burning; stinking flesh.


“All damaged people are dangerous. Survival makes them so.”


“Because they have no pity. They know that others can survive, as they did.”