Without Her by Elizabeth Coleman
	I gracefully make my way through the crowd unhindered. My leather trench coat grazes the floor, loyally following the smooth steps of my boots circling the perimeter of the dance floor. Black eyes looking- searching. The air is filled with smoke, a combined result of the fog machine and people's lit cigarettes. The music is loud, rhythmic beats of metal rolling through the air demanding to be heard. Lights bounce off the fog as though it were solid, making the rays dance on all the faces.   None of this is a distraction, though. I scan the crowd with a single-minded drive. Stalking the enemy. Hunting the prey. I'll find her. There's no question. I'll find her, because, in the end, I am her. I see her, dancing within the embrace of a man. Her eyes, bright and brown, sparkle in the lights. I can hear the laughter pour from her pink lips. She is innocent. She is good. She is happy. And I hate her. She is all that I am not. I hate her because I will never be her. I hate her because I will never know that feeling. The strange, foreign feeling I yearn for with every waking breath. The feeling people like me aren't meant to know. Peace. I stalk up behind her quietly. She doesn't know I'm there. She doesn't suspect what's going to happen. But she'll know I did it. It happens fast. In less than a second the blade is in my hand; another second it tears through her throat, leaving behind a trail of blood. I watch her fall limply to the floor. And I look into her eyes. Strange- how a face so familiar can be so foreign. No good without evil. No love without hate. No innocence without lust. I am darkness, and she couldn't exist without me. Fortunately it doesn't work both ways. I'm just fine without her.
	Copyright © 2005 Elizabeth Coleman