Karma - The End This is a one-shot (possible more-shots to come?) based on my stories, Karma and Karma: Sidestories. I felt like they were discontinued on a bad note and without proper burial, so this should give a rough sketch of some sort of ending. I often remember it on silent days like this. His body lying stiff on the ground. Virtue explaining. My child in her arms. The chills running through my body and every ounce of my being. The way time seemed to stop. The feeling of all my recently-acquired dreams being smashed like glass on concrete. "It's for your own good," Virtue's words echo through my mind. It's for my own good. It's for my own good. I didn't deserve that kind of lifestyle. I didn't deserve a daughter. This is all for my own good. A murderer. Why would a murderer deserve a daughter? A murderer deserves a little, overgrown house on a dreadful lot. A murderer deserves the iron scent of blood that oozed from her skin, no matter how many times she bathed, no matter how many times she tried to conceal it with love. A murderer deserves a noose hanging from the front porch because she is empty. She is cold and hollow and dead. Because it's for her own good. A murderer deserves to feel the agony of her victims. She can feel their pain as it courses through her like wildfire and she can merely smirk. Their pain gives her adrenaline, because she can't feel it otherwise. She bathes herself in blood, because the last time she bathed in water, it certainly wasn't as satisfying. I channel their misery as if it were my own, and I am giddy with pleasure. I am alive and free and unstoppable. There are many things a murderer deserves, and this is one of my favorite stories with exactly that. I arrive home from school late, excited to tell my husband that I am passing all of my classes. I am majoring in Psychology — I will be able to finally understand people. I open the door with enthusiasm, a thing very foreign yet pleasing. Todd Chataway, my husband, is lying stiff on the ground. Blood pools on the carpet. High-heels do not make sounds on carpet, but children sure do when their father is lying so very stiff. My would-be friend, Virtue, picks up my daughter with an attempt to hush the child. It takes a while to register, but my husband is dead and my heart is numb. It takes a while to register, but my child is crying because her father is dead. It takes a while to register, but I deserve this, I do. This scene is so familiar, but the feelings attached aren't. I go numb with this scene before my eyes, my heart begging for my eyes to turn away but they refuse. I've seen this many, many times before, but it has never been so haunting that I die every time I think about it. A murderer like me deserves this. I slump to the floor, my mouth agape. I did not wonder why. I did not dare to have the audacity to ask for a reason which I already knew. It was because a murderer like me got married. It was because a murderer like me gave birth to such a beautiful daughter. It was because a murderer like me thought that she deserved more than killing and depriving. "It's for your own good," Virtue says, visibly taking delight in my agony the same way I take delight in others' agony. For her, there are no feelings here. A murderer deserves these silent, blood-free nights. Where the moon sits just right in the sky and her noose swings so lightly in the breeze. When the blood doesn't quite wash off her skin even though she's been on hiatus for at least a week. She's bathed in water countless times, but she's still stanching of blood. She deserves the mental pictures of her own self swinging as the noose does and she finds it so very calming. Will the moon shine as brightly on her blood-soaked body? Why, I find this so calming. How she has been craving a moment of peace since she saw her lover laying on the ground so stiff. The sun shone so brightly through the windows, giving a sparkle to his blood. How It gave his sleeping face a summery glow. How I blinked as the sunlight reached my eyes and everything has changed, but it just seemed so surreal. How distant my daughter's voice seemed. How slowly I fell into realization. "This is all for your own good." "Yes," I say, "This is all for my own good." And my noose catches my neck as I fall.