Killing Laura

The first thing I wanted this morning was just to know that you didn’t hate me for doing this to you. For killing you so horribly, but you see, it had to fit…

It began, as it always does (with us, anyway) with conversation – an argument in this instance, over a fellow poet, and my determination that her latest offering was prize-worthy, versus your stubborn will and desire to tease.

You succeeded, and the banter grew more and more intense as I insisted upon knowing. In the end I delivered an ultimatum – ridiculous, given the geography, but there you have it – if she didn’t win, I would GET you.

Laura Dead

You laughed sweetly, mockingly, and asked me HOW?!

The only way I know, my dear – to eviscerate you in fiction.

But you grinned and told me no-one had ever done that before, and to bring it on.

I never could resist a dare.

I had you sat at your computer, on the vidchat we so often indulge in, so that I could see you when it happened. Everything was primed, and because I’m a sweetheart really, I arranged ahead that your kids would be out somewhere, taken care of by friends. I also waited until your husband was at work, and the house was quiet.

There was a knock at the door and you looked up, annoyed, told me you’d be right back – there was a knock at the door. I smiled slyly as you swept the headphones from your ears. I already knew.

Voices were raised and I heard you swearing. A man’s voice, overpowering yours, chased you back into view. You ran to the kitchen, ransacking the drawers for something to use as a weapon. Found nothing, because I don’t play fair, you see – if I’m going to step out of my nature and do this, I want it made easy for me. But then…no, it is about power after all. Have a knife. Try!

You grasped the blade and turned to face your attacker. A lean, muscly nonentity with stringy hair and wild eyes. Who is he to you? A friend of an ex? A random nutter? Someone who bore you a deep and abiding grudge? He scared you, I could see, because you were pale, darling, and your freckles were showing dark against your lily skin, your eyes like black holes, drawing me into your panic as you yelled at him to get the fuck out of your house or you’d call the police.

My dear, the phone had to go. I wanted you to fight.

You did well. You swept a cup off the counter and threw it square at his head, where it exploded to smithereens across his temple, littering the floor with broken china. He bellowed and ran for you. You hesitated for a second – you were so close to running towards him – to countering his charge, but at the last minute all of the fears of your past welled up and engulfed you, and you turned tail and ran.

That was mean of me. I wanted you to fight, so he dragged you back into view by your hair, once he’d caught you. You squirmed and lashed out. He had your arm held out – the one with the knife still clutched in your hand – and you were desperately trying to break the iron grip on your wrist. You kicked him in the shins, clouting backwards with your feet – a plethora of useless blows and one moment of satisfying contact with his kneecap, making him stagger and wince.

You twisted, in spite of the ripping of your hair, and you bit him, sinking the venom of every one of your teeth into his flesh. But you dropped the knife in your eagerness to hold and subdue him, and he used your forward rush against you – he flung himself backward into a roll, and you flew over him, landed in a jumbled heap of limbs and grazed knees on the broken china, your mouth red with his blood.

You started to rise but he was up already, boots stamped down on your ankle, grinding it into the porcelain points, pinning you to the floor, and I watched the tears spurt down your face from pain, and I nearly stopped, darling, I really did.

But you had challenged me, and my honour was at stake.

I let him bend towards you, to tell you – to hiss you a message with his harsh voice and unearthly eyes, and you looked towards the screen in disbelief, to see me smile at you, encouragingly.

“Not like this!” you cried “I wanted glamour – I wanted tragedy – I wanted a STORY, you bitch!”

He punched you in the mouth for that. I think I saw you lose a tooth in the gouts of blood which flew down your top and decorated the china with a new, spotty pattern. I hope you bit your tongue. YOU ASKED FOR IT!

He dropped into you, knees pointed towards your gut, knocking the wind out. I heard you wheezing and saw your pathetic flails, as though reaching for his throat were more important than the air you so desperately needed. He did it again for good measure and then stayed on top of you, using his weight to subdue.

You cried then, great, gulping sobs, as you realised that it was over, or about to be.

He scooped the knife up from the floor and held your head back. You kicked and bucked and gave him a flavour of the rodeo I knew you could be, if pushed. My heart quickening, I let him hesitate – how much fight was in you? He started to enjoy it, pinning one part of you, then another, taking your feeble blows and hearing your shrieks of outrage as his delay encouraged you.

He took your hand and kissed it – a courteous touch, which surprised you enough that you didn’t expect him to suddenly plunge the knife home – right between his legs as he straddled you. He pulled it out, slick with your bright life-blood, and twice in again, in rapid succession, like punches, for more force than you realise is required to get a carving knife into a human.

He levered himself off you, and you curled into a ball, embryonic with pain, keening and bleeding and starting to shake.

Again, I almost relented, for you then uncurled and crawled, judderingly across the floor, back towards the screen where I still watched, transfixed – equal parts fascinated and horrified – and you spoke to me with a voice containing the sorrow of the entire world: “I thought you loved me? This isn’t what I wanted…how could you?”

We rarely get what we want in life, lovely, even with your face a mask of tears and the pain so great it was almost tangible through the screen. Enough was enough. He came up behind you then, snapped your head back one last time, and made quick work of finding your jugular – a few swift jabs and he opened you up, still writhing, and stood grimacing as the red pumped out of you and down his jeans, soaking his jacket and flooding his shoes.

You hung on, dear one, so bravely. You held my gaze for as long as you could, before your sweet eyes rolled back in a faint as the pain and blood-loss became too much. I watched as he let go of your hair, and your dead weight slumped to the ground. He bent for several moments of vigorous activity and stood again, fingers once more entwined in your hair – your face now serene (though bloody), but with the rest of you sickeningly…gone.

The dare was over. The challenge was won.

I killed you in fiction, but perhaps the joke was on me all along, because all I wanted to do was rescue you – to make him too clumsy to do the job properly; to give you a weapon sufficient enough to fight him off; to not, not, not let you die.

A hollow victory, my dear, and when I killed you I thought (being fiction) it would be easy to write and enjoy. But it wasn’t.

So…like I said – the first thing I wanted to know when I woke up was whether or not you hate me for this. And I’d appreciate a response; to let me know you’re still alive…

ferallittlesecret.wordpress.comHave you ever committed murder in fiction? Ever killed (or been killed by) a friend? What’s the worst death you’ve written?

87 thoughts on “Killing Laura

  1. I am an avid reader so I feel I have some experience behind me when I tell you that this was so well written! It was honestly one of the best death scenes I have ever read, truly! I think what I liked the most about this piece was that the narrator was the villain and the villain won, but all through it was repeated that she (the victim) had asked you to do this and you didn’t really want to, but if you were going to do it… it was going to be perfect. I also loved that the actual killer was basically a faceless man – pretty much a prop. So glad I followed you right now!!!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Wow! That has to be up there amongst the biggest compliments I’ve received so far! Thank you so much 🙂 It was one of the trickiest pieces of fiction I’ve written, because the blurring of lines between me as narrator and me as character-narrator were so blurred. I love how it came across in the end though. And yes – the man was just a prop – a puppet, and it was weird to be so frank about that, AS the narrator….

      Wow I’m glad you like this so much, and thank you for being so pleased to have followed me. That’s awesome 🙂


    • *grins* THANK YOU 😀 I like this piece the more and more I come back to it. I still don’t particularly enjoy the ‘feels’ it gives me to imagine doing that to my friend, BUT it’s kind of light-hearted for all that, and definitely not *too* realistic.

      (also I don’t know why you REPEATEDLY seem to need my approval for your comments to appear – I have it set so that one approval *should* cover all future comments, so I’m really not sure what’s going on! Hopefully it’s fixed now.)

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Chilling and fucking brilliant. LOVE IT!!! How frightfully entertaining to see one of our sister wives “killed off” out of a dare. HAHAHA. I guess she won’t challenge you again…..or will she??

    Liked by 1 person

    • I doubt it, now I’ve killed her! She’d better not! She knows what I’m capable of. And this was me holding back out of love and respect. If she upsets me, I will eviscerate her THOROUGHLY (though I’ll do it where Mandi can’t see, cos I think this upset her a bit!).

      I’m half-waiting for retaliation of some kind, but we’ll see…


  3. Fantastically written! I “watched” the entire scene in my head as I read it. You did a splendid job with this regardless of its comfort level (or lack thereof). Kudos!!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. When I was younger I wanted to be a writer. I wrote about 15k words in a psychological thriller with a very violent car crash prologue. Inspired by that attempt to scare our class in year 11 or 12 by having the fire fighter guys tell us how they cut broken bodies out of cars. Morbid but I’m still proud of that piece of writing. You write well 🙂


  5. Um… excuse me while I go vomit in the toilet with beads of sweat dripping from my forehead, while I shake uncontrollably and then coil in the corner of the bathroom.

    Still whimpering…

    Ya scared me Tigger! Ya did! Kitty almost peed herself.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Bless your boots, Kitty, but I can’t help but rather enjoy your reaction *chuckles a tiny bit*

      I would offer you a HUGEGREATBIGHUG…but you look a little skeert right now!


  6. Um. Ok. I’m not sure what to say. Please don’t kill me. Or hire anybody to kill me. I’m kinda thinking you’re a badass right about now.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ohmigosh I’m going to end up with a reputation for randomly killing my friends! *shakes head in dispair*

      Laura ASKED for this! I would never just suddenly up and kill ANYONE! (not even in fiction). That is absolutely and completely the only reason I did it. I will not kill you. Promise.

      I might be a tiny bit badass but really not much. I couldn’t pull it off. I’m altogether too twinkly and tigerish.

      Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you 🙂 I shall take that as a compliment.

      It was really hard to write but my desire not to resist a dare was stronger than my disinclination to murder Laura, so I wrote! I am altogether too competitive.


      • I get that. I find myself saying “challenge accepted” (in homage to Barney) often these days. It’s hard to turn down a good challenge, or dare, or even the hint of peer pressure. Well, that’s all hard for me, anyway.
        But, to kill a friend? Yes, you should take my original comment as a compliment. You did admirably well to stick to the task and see her off. I think I’d have left the ending open, giving the reader (and me) hope that she somehow found a way to survive at the very least.


        • I had (I suppose) the added comfort of knowing that she was really psyched about the idea of being killed in fiction, so in a way, I wanted to do her proud. But yes – I didn’t like finishing the job because I know her so well and it brought up a lot of unwanted (and quite unnecessary) Feels.

          Barney the dinosaur, Barney? LOL! That’s bonkers. What kind of challenges do you take on? Writing ones?


  7. Note to self, do not piss off Lizzi because she might brutally murder me.

    Sigh…this was hard to read because I was briefly on that Vidchat, so I could really fuggin *see* her, and I love Laura, and I thought why make her attacker a man? Have you been reading her blog? And then I thought, no no no, Lizzi won’t kill her. This is just her toying with us, but then you knocked her tooth out and then actually left her in a pile of lifeless blood. No! Not Laura. And I KNEW it was fiction. Shit, you’re so good, Lizzi, but you’re never allowed to kill one of my sisterwives again…for the record.

    Now I’m even more excited for you to read my book. There is a death that was so hard to write that I took two months off from writing just to play it in my head enough to get it right and get the *feels* that go with it. One day I’ll finish my rewrites.

    Aside from the part that I didn’t like your killing my SW, I did in fact love the writing. Well written, my dear!

    Liked by 1 person

    • I solemnly swear I will never brutally murder you, my Squishy. Not even in the unlikely event that you piss me off.

      I KNOW and that’s why it was so hard for me to write…truly painful and difficult and horrible but…the one redeeming factor is just how damn PLEASED Laura was with this.

      I hesitated about making it a man. Because everything – I’ve been reading too, and I know all the published back-story, and just how mean it would be, but also I needed to keep it so that, in spite of the MASSIVE leap you have to make to get to the idea that I’m knowingly in control of the scene, it would be asking too much to make it me who actually *did* the deed. Also *I* would have no motivation, but as a writer, I do. Does that make sense? So it needed to be quasi-plausible. I did at least take her children out of the way. I couldn’t let them come in and see her. Even in fiction I couldn’t go that far.

      I knocked her tooth out because she was rude about how I was killing her. It’s my story and she doesn’t get to choose to be some tragic heroine :p

      For the record, Mandi, if any of your sisterwives ever ASKS to be killed by me, I shall consider it an HONOUR, alright? This is how much Laura trusted my writing; a) that I wouldn’t muck it up, and b) that I could do it in such a way it would be well-received. And I reiterate – did you SEE HOW HAPPY SHE WAS?

      However. I doubt any of your other SWs have quite the same brand of crazy as Laura’s got going on *grins* I doubt they’d ask, so we’re off the hook.

      You spent TWO MONTHS ON A DEATH! Wowwwwww it’s gonna be GOOD! I can’t wait 😀 Hurryup hurryup!

      Liked by 1 person

      • Yes, two months on a death. It was hard to write. I still have a hard time reading that part where it happens. I need to get to work, but I’m just so easily distracted these days.

        And I’ll forgive you for murdering Laura since she apparently enjoyed it so much, but still…you took her tooth…that’s just wrong.

        I love you anyway though!

        Liked by 1 person

        • It wasn’t the awful one you tipped me off might happen – the one which prevents closure, where you play bastard author and let your readers lose someone important? Cos if you do that, it SHOULD take you two months. And you should feel damn guilty.

          I appreciate your forgiveness for me murdering Laura. She’s free to retaliate, though I kind of dread to think what her mind would come up with. She’s much more twisted than I am.

          I should epilogue, just for you, that I put the tooth under the pillow where her headless body was laid to rest, and the tooth fairy came in the night to take the tooth, had a heart attack and died. Howzat?..



  8. Gosh I wish I had your creativity…I’ve never killed off a character in fiction (or otherwise…) but I bet it would be a great exercise to try. You know, you’ve motivated me to try to take a class in fiction writing next (after I finish the class I’m in now). I’ve always gravitated to writing nonfiction, but I feel as if I’ll never grow as a writer if I don’t get out of my comfort zone so thank you – I’m gonna do it!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ohhhh DEFINITELY go for it. If only to add to your repertoire and have a bit of fun with writing in a new way 🙂 How exciting. I’m in the middle of taking a free e-course in fiction at the moment, provided by the Open University. It’s proving very fun, with lots of new ideas being generated.


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