• He looked at her with murder in his eyes; laughing at how pathetic she looked. Cowered and hidden in the shadows of the dark room, he could still see her ghostly white skin reflect the shimmers of light that poured in through the broken window. She had mascara and blood streaked down her face, contorting its sheer beauty. The beauty he was so jealous of. He couldn't stand her having more than him, and it was all her fault. It was her fault for being so, goddamned beautiful.
    The pistol in his hand seemed to grow more anxious as the broken clock ticked like it was seizing. It moved and churned in his hand, screaming to be fired. In his other hand laid a blue flower, for her. He had intended for this to be her last vision. His eyes fluttered closed, remembering the times that they had once had together, the good times…No, those were over. Those awful and short-lived times were all her fault, just as everything else. All her stupid, beautiful fault. Anger built up inside of him, he aimed, and shot at her.
    She wasn't so beautiful with bullet holes through her.