( CW ) ( LAST SENTENCE ) And then he proceeded to lock the door , hoping that no one would ever open it again .

She never looked as beautiful as she did rocking to and fro, oh so many years ago. 
 
 He pulls on the steel doorknob, turning it as he once so often did. Martin walks through the archway, the wood cracking underneath with each boot step. He stops for a second. He looks over his shoulder and sees no one. He continues, past the multitude of dressers and Victorian vanities. He cracks down on a leftover blemish container. He looks up expecting a whimper or shriek, but forgets what had become of the once vocal occupant. 
 
 He picks up the blemish container and tosses it aside, advancing for the light switch. He can ’ t bear the miniscule beams of light any longer, not for fear but for aggravation. He was not the juvenile, timid boy of the past; he was a god-damn man now. 
 
 He finally reaches the brass drawstring. He yanks at it, expecting the room to light itself. Again and again he yanks. He bites his lip, murmuring a few obscenities. The bastard of a light has been unused for quite some time. Luckily, he remembers how to get the damned thing to work. He holds it down for five seconds and maneuvers it to the right. His frustration gaining traction with each pull. 
 
 “ Fucking forsaken light! ” his brows and lips furled. 
 
 “ UGHH! ” 
 
 Just as he finds himself about to tear the light from it ’ s holding, the beam sputters on. He laughs to himself as he forgot how much of a hassle it always was. She always would begin to sob as he struggled. The curses always seemed to amplify her disdain. 
 
 The room now illuminated, he takes in the rather confined bedroom. Opening his nostrils, finding the radiation increasing his other senses. He looks around, finally seeing the confines in all of its ’ glory. The vanities had culminated a vast amount of dust, alongside other blemishes. There seemed to be a rat ’ s nest in the corner where he once stuffed the floral recliner. He loved just sitting there and flipping through the pages from his vast sci-fi collection, while she watched. He could tell she enjoyed his oral recanting of such esteemed authors; she always shut her mouth and stopped sniffling. 
 
 His eyes breeze past the recliner now, noting all of the accumulations of wear displaced on the antiquated floor. He rolls his eyes forward and finally lands on the epicenter of the room. 
 
 Situated directly under the window, with the velvet hue curtain, was that special chair for which his great-grandmother labored for many months. The legs protruding with a fantastical spiral, the backing designed to induce a spirit of outdoorsman ship, carved with a depiction of bucks atop a Cliffside. And perhaps most importantly, the name whittled in at the top, Douglas; the family ’ s lineage portrayed for the entire world to see. This grand, oak rocker was the only remnant from his family he cherished. But perhaps what was sprawled on the rocker was more valuable, at least to Martin. 
 
 Half hanging from the rocker ’ s left arm was a rotting carcass. The frame looked to be of four and a half feet, with half of the cheekbone ’ s accompanying flesh present. The mouth aghast, yellowed teeth displayed in an incredulous manner. The torso and legs covered with a summer dress. Not a simple dress, but one in which many would admire the wearer ’ s emboldened style choice. The daisies sprawled and patterned with much elegance. The outfit finished with a pair of alluring white slippers. The one ’ s Martin picked out himself from the high street shop so long ago. 
 
 Martin is barraged with such grand memories. The dancing, the make-up time, and most importantly the embrace of her. All had provided such pleasure to Martin. She was his adorning lover, he was so sure. From the moment she followed him to his old home, to the moment he bound and gagged her with shaking arms, as she was being quite naughty. She was always too mischievous; he had to punish her quite often. Martin waiting to advance, he does not want to spoil their first rekindling in such a sojourn. 
 
 Martin dismisses all of the flashes of her once vibrant, pristine body. When she had such rosy cheeks and supple lips, the kind for which a peach even could not compete. Even her hair that once shone with such tremendous vigor, blinding any man who saw her, was now thrown away. She was here, now. Now, just as so many years ago. 
 
 He steps forward carefully lifting his feet. Martin is now within arm ’ s reach. This was the reunion he waited for. For ten years he waited, never pursuing another for what happened. For what HE did to her; the mistake that plastered with enormity on his mind for so many years. Finally, he could apologize. 
 
 Martin opens his mouth trying to hold back the stammers. 
 “ M-Maribel…. ” 
 Lips stumbling and eyes slowly filling with water, he continues. 
 “ Maribel, I am so-so sorry. I-I-I never thought I ’ d harm you to such extremes. ” 
 
 He bends over and holds on to her feeble knee bone. Brushing his fingers on the dress he loved to such an extent. 
 
 “ I never would go that far, I never wanted to hurt you so bad, Maribel. Never. Not a god damn second did it process through my mind to end your life. You were the once precious thing I would look forward to after the bullshit I had to endure. ” 
 
 The distaste of this talk broods in his mind. He begins to unleash a torrent of tears, clutching onto her decrepit lap whitening his knuckles. 
 
 “ And that day…..We were having such a great time! You even smirked for the first time that I could remember. ” 
 
 Martin pausing in between sobs. 
 
 “ I didn ’ t think…I didn ’ t think the cuts would be so damaging. I tried to avoid your arteries…I did. I even rented a book from the library on the human anatomy, Maribel, I wanted to be so careful with your fragile body. ” 
 
 “ But alas, I suppose I went too far… ” 
 
 Martin pouring the last remnants of himself to her. 
 
 “ …I know I did, and for that I am infinitely sorry my love. ” 
 
 Martin completely flushed with mouth open, absorbing the dust from her dress, falls over as his hands realize the emptiness they clutch. He pulls his hands to wipe his face and rolls trying to cast these emotions away. 
 
 Martin sniffling, remembers what he brought in his pocket. He reaches down and pulls it from it ’ s holding. It is the Polaroid he took of Maribel on the second week he finally had her. She was smiling with pursed lips, legs crossed, and holding her makeup. She was the most incredible woman and always would be. 
 
 Martin pulls the Polaroid to match it to the rocking chair holding his love. He holds it up and compares. He does not want to see the real image any longer. He pulls the Polaroid in front of the destitute corpse and faintly begins to smile. He begins to walk backwards still holding the picture up. He reaches the door and takes his penultimate turn away. Martin grabs the handle as he sighs heavily, shaking his head. He holds onto the handle, not wanting to let go of the defining memory of his life. 
 
 But Martin knew it was time, and then he proceeded to lock the door, hoping that no one would ever open it again. 
 
 
 
 

