Note: Ooo.. Evil character. I like~ *beams* I call this "Touch me and you die.".

On the damp, cold ground lay a mutilated corpse, literally torn limb from limb in a pool of thick blood. Crawling with an unusually large number of vermin, the flies and maggots devoured their feast of rotting flesh, emitting a sweet, decaying scent. The face of the motionless torso was undoubtedly beautiful, had it not been streaked with tearstains and smudged with dried blood. Her open eyes were a deep, clear blue and remained emotionless in their sockets given her state. Her thin, once-pink lips were slightly apart, and her face displayed mild shock and fear. Her cheeks, devoid of its formerly healthy glow rested upon her sullied face like sheets of white paper.

As I turned my gaze to the slim, bloody dagger on the ground, I picked it up and raised it slowly to my lips, touching my tongue to the blade, licking the delectable droplets off it. Pleasure surged through me, gently – The balmy liquid trickled pleasantly down my throat to my chest, spreading its warmth throughout my entire body, right from the point it landed.

I did warn her.

“Touch me and you die.” I whispered with a soft chuckle.

Note: Wrote this quite a while ago, thus explaining the lack of good description and rather childish story.. It seems that it touches the heart more if read out. *grins* No idea why, but it works. This is " 'Till Death".

Upon his white lip I lay my trembling fingers with heartfelt tenderness as I memorized every line and curve of his face. I called out his name.

He uttered incomprehensible words, but perhaps my heart was beating too hard to hear anything. With an effort that caused a faint crease in his forehead, he lifted his hand ever so slowly as he placed it at my nape in a vain attempt to draw me close to him.

I obliged his silent wish, leaning forward and brushing forbidden tears from my eyes.

"Hush."

My mind whirled from a sudden surge of clarity as I heard his deep, baritone voice escape his mouth in warm and comforting, but strained words.

Heart aching with longing and regret as he pressed his lips to my cheek, it was all I could do not to throw myself over him, to tell him how sorry I was to not have loved him more.

I called his name again, this time, in a soft whisper that spoke of the anguish I was experiencing.

His name was spoken like a divine word as I tried desperately to blink back the unstopping tears from my eyes, but with no success, and it rolled down my numb cheeks.

"I like the way you say my name." A weak smile formed on his handsome features as he teased me, and his tone deepened as he said with sincerity, "Happy birthday, honey.".

I knew not to laugh or cry, finally deciding on both, sending him a teary quirk of my lips.

A sudden sharp breath he expelled, his face twisted in silent agony.

I help back nothing more. I didn't care. All I wanted was to let him know...

"I love you." I said in all seriousness.

When he displayed no reaction, I repeated myself, this time more fiercely, in a tone not unlike a teacher ordering a student about. "I love you."

He grabbed my hand and held it tightly with both of his, his breath coming in short pants.

"No, listen to me. I love you. Don't. No. I love you, you can't do this!"

My shoulders began to shake as I buried my face in our linked hands.

I called out his name in a cry of fear as he stroked my head once, slowly, before it rested heavily - a dead weight - on my back.

I did not cry, I merely removed his hand from me, kissing him on his lips one last time before calling the doctor to take him away.

My job was done. I told him I loved him. He will remember that.

As I stepped out into the unfeeling road of happy families celebrating Christmas, a cold gush of wind hit me - but I felt nothing. I knew it was all over.

How callous life is.

I glanced up at the dark December night. A star winked at me drearily....Happy birthday to me.

Note: I wrote this for my most recent English examination.. I kinda got the idea of the oak tree from a poem I've read called "The Box", which was really beautiful. So, in case you people don't get it, the guy died. Scored a 26/30 for this. Enjoy, and feel free to comment. :D This is called "Leaves".

All was quiet as I sat leaning back against his warm form, his warm arms encircling me as I gazed at the gleaming river just a few feet ahead. The moon was partially shielded by the clouds, the ghost of what would have been a very bright moon. A soft gentle breeze floated to us, and once it passed, I found that it was not “us” but me – all alone, left with the harsh, but tranquil rustle of the leaves overhead.

Tears stung the back of my eyes, and I wished that they would just flow, but they remained there, painful as ever, an increasingly excruciating constriction in my throat. I raised my gaze to the stars above, searching for the brightest one, and wondering, just wondering, hoping against all hope that he was not that star, and that I could see him again.

The chill of the night crept around and into me, and I realized I was sulking childishly for some oddly unfathomable reason. The stars had no eyes, no mouth, no hair, no nose, no heart. No heart to love me as he did. I had once heard that a star falls whenever someone thinks of and misses another. I knew, soon, that I would be enveloped in darkness, for my eyelids were starting to feel heavy. But I could not sleep; there was nothing realistic to dream about anymore.

I tore my gaze from the water and dragged it to the oak tree I was leaning against. I drew my knees up against my chest and reveled in the comfort of its sunken-in trunk. We grew up with it, and it grew to fit our bodies. The moon was gone now, and my hair whipped across my face repeatedly, slashing my heart as it did so, as the thick leaves played a warning siren of the impending storm. The tree was as strong as our love, and the leaves did not fall.

Running my fingers along the markings on the tree, I remembered running to it after school to meet him for a little time together before dinner, and I remembered his handsome face greeting me with love and humour dancing about in his eyes. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned a shoulder against the tree, crossing his feet at the ankles as he nodded towards deep markings on the tree trunk.

“You were late, and I missed you,” he explained vaguely.

I took a look at the small, shining knife on the grass and gasped softly in shock.

“You didn’t cut your-”

He threw back his head and gave a shout of laughter. Standing upright, he held out his hand to me and said, “Come, my sweet. I’ll show you.”

“Keith loves Joan,” he enunciated. “You must come earlier next time, or I’ll have to write something mushier than this,” he teased, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. We dissolved in musical peals of laughter.

As the memory faded, I felt my spirits give a slight lift, and a new memory crept darkly into my head. The weather then was similar to the weather now. Thin leaves from all around began to fall about save for that of the oak tree’s. The wind whistled into my ears and I was wearing the same dress I wore then.

I was feeling cold then, and had his sweater and arms around me for warmth, but now, I was all alone with the tree. I was numb to the cold, however, and once again, I wished he were really here with me.

We were engaged, and then married. I wore both rings on the same hand, and I was a very happy lady. On the night of our wedding, we sat by the river, under the old oak tree, and he held my hand in his, twining his fingers with mine. We were quiet for ages, and all of a sudden, he pulled my engagement ring off my finger and threw it into the river.

“Away with that; we’re married now.” The surge of fury in me faded abruptly. So did the wind.

A leaf fell onto my lap, and it tore a gasp from me. This leaf was different, I noticed. It was of a darker green, and it was thicker and tougher than the others. I bit my lower lip and lifted the oak tree’s leaf to my face, rubbing my cheek lightly against it, savouring the feel of its softness against my skin.

Tears stung the back of my eyes, and I wished that they would just flow, and they did, painful as ever as they trailed a scorching path down my face, an increasingly excruciating constriction in my throat. And for the first time since he left, I wept. Gone was the warmth I could imagine, gone was my soul with his.

Note: I wrote this quite a while ago, and went through much planning for this, though the results weren't as satisfactory as I had expected. Oh well, comments and help? :D Oh, the title's "At Thine Hands".

Her face, so flawless in appearance, may deceive all, but I knew what lay beneath that picturesque frame.

“En garde!” A salute from both parties, our voices echoing around us in the room. I glanced briefly at the sparkling, polished marble floor, the walls, which were touched with roughly smooth, intricately decorated wallpaper, the closed oaken door, and her: before I place a foot behind.

She advanced with lightning-quick agility, nearing that of mine.

My suit was protecting me far less than before, I needlessly informed myself, and I smiled inwardly at that and at my suddenly improved speed.

She looked stunningly beautiful that morning, and it was all I could do not to lavish myself with one shared kiss between us – my heart stung at the thought…

Lunging forward to score a point, I nodded silently, once, when she laughed – an enchanting voice, paling that of the nightingale’s – and returned to the starting point.

My heart pumped faster in the second round – a feeling of betrayal bubbled up in me as I recalled the scene where she lay peacefully in another man’s arms. That was two nights ago.

She came to me the next morning begging for my forgiveness, and I gave it to her while in a state of confusion and denial.

I wanted everything to return to normal. I wanted her. I wounded my pride and dignity. She wounded my heart.

I gave her all I could. She gave me all she wanted to.

Life was becoming a torture, ending it was the perfect solution, and still is.

Numb with anticipation, I felt only her sabre’s tip impale my chest as it glinted dimly.

Its cold, thin blade went right into my heart, the only place it hurt.I closed my eyes against her reaction. I did not want to know. Life flowed from my body in the form of warm blood, leaving me colder than before as I was drained of strength.

I knew not how she reacted. I knew not when I fell to the ground.

I knew not what to feel.

But I knew, my darling, I died at thine hands.

Note: I'm a little icked by this essay. Honestly, its disgusting.. Not the content. Well, the content, but I don't like the main point of the story much. Its quite a cool twist, but otherwise.. *shakes her head* So! Open for criticism! Presenting.. "Regrets for her."

I could tell that most of us considered laughing when we heard that she tripped and fell. That was before we knew the whole story.

Stunned was the only word to describe our emotions at the table upon receiving intelligence that Amy died after lying down due to an unfortunate trip over a deliberately stuck out leg.

It was difficult to believe, almost impossible. My heart leapt for a moment at the new before sinking back into the dreary depths of my soul. Amy was a nasty girl, that for one was a fact, but she did not deserve such a fate.

I then started to remember the times we shared. She was teasing me for the white-laced, frilly dress I wore one day at school. I kicked her in the shin, and she received a large painful bruise that did not go away from a week.

We were plotting her murder jokingly at our usual table, the very table we were at when we heard of her mishap. That was nearly three years ago, when I was eleven. I pretended to be murdered by my other friends, screaming and twitching on the ground after consuming the “poison” slipped into my water bottle.

I teased her for being stupid and lazy, for being the weakest and slowest in class, for being ugly. I was happy. I actually was happy.

But now, I don’t see anything to be happy about.

It is understood by the most fortunate and prideful that it is better living with a healthy and fully functioning body with no defects, natural or otherwise, than to stay alive having to rely on others to take care of you.

What a waste. She should have suffered.

Note: This one starts off pretty well, but ends off pretty weird. I wrote this quite a while ago, and planned this rather well, but the problem is.. I don't think I made it clear enough how and why things happened, because now, when I read it, I have hardly an idea how and why things happened. Enjoy "Bleeding With Thoughts". :)

The constant tapping of blood against blood rang through the tranquility of my room. I stared ahead: at the dark ceiling. I could hardly make out its shape, could hardly locate its four corners, I thought with numb panic.

Perhaps the light would help, but doing this insulted my want for untroubled solidarity – just for a while… for as long as I could – to think things through.

With every new inch the scarlet of my life licked, it seemed as though the self-inflicted cut was extending further.

It felt extremely pleasing, but faintly so. It felt ethereal, and unreal… It cleared my mind of all unnecessary thoughts.

The hundredth tap on the ground of shimmering blood – and I knew, I understood.Carl entered my life and left it on purpose to make me suffer for the rest of it.

He chose to die in the most horrible way, leaving me helpless and at a aloss of what to do.

There was a ransom of five million. The demand did not alarm me – I was anxious only for his well-being.

The three days without his company left me pale and tired. I couldn’t eat or sleep.

The money was finally sent, and I thanked the Lord for my financial stability.

A day passed, then two. The wait was unbearable. I waited for his return. Silly me. I should have noticed. The kidnappers never promised the return of Carl at all. They did not fool me, I had misunderstood.

The authorities found him the next day, in a tiny hit in a secluded area. I was overjoyed. Was.

I noticed dully the men commenting on how lucky he was to have passed on in such a beautiful place, and how unlucky he was to have such callous kidnappers whip and torture him with salt water.

I remember glancing around at the rolling hills and green fields of fresh flowers, and voicing my disgust: Carl died in a happy place. His death was a happy one. We should be glad because he died?

This whole analysis took a long time. A very long time… and I felt the thousandth drop falling from my wrist.

It was a very small drop. I ran my fingers lightly along the cut from my wrist to the bend of my arm.

I shut my eyes from the darkness for more of it.

I shut my heart from the throbbing ache.

Then I felt a peace – far beyong that of the silent night and its blackout of sight.

Note: Click here! Just keep going.