The confession

“Madam, please swear to confess the truth consciously, I can help you in the next trial only if we really open our hearts and take a belief on.” The woman kept silent and threw her eyes out the courtyard through the rows of windows. I followed her gaze. A fountain was topped with stream water, the green mossy blanket covered around, and I noticed 4 baby angel statues grasping the pots inside the pool. From my position, I honestly just saw the top of their head, black and mossy, but I presented that they were. At the corner of the yard, a spruce was trembling along the wind breeze. I once heard Mrs. Noah told that this spruce is used instead of a Christmas tree, they will design and make it up whenever Xmas comes. The tree did not seem large like other spruces I had seen before, but it had immense foliage with its vivid vitality over 4 years. I saw a squirrel under the third from the bottom bough, two unknown birds were settling their nest, and a laborer was slinging some pots of orchid on the row of the wall.

The snow began falling down. I all loved watching the snowflake because of their heaven, tranquility, and lullaby quintessential. When I was a child, in every single winter, I could not hold patience in my cozy house, most of the time I ran out as fast as possible and soaked under the snow. I haunted snow as Scrat loves his chestnut. That’s such a strong emotion, showing his possession, pointing only at his nut, and even deeper than the ocean. I dived into the moment when the snowflake was touching my finger and vanished, even while my body numbed and trembled due to the cold, I never wanted to switch in the house. I found passion under the snow rain.

“I shot my husband, in a heartbeat, without hesitation. A clear shot blasted in the atmosphere, went through his head, and glinted on the wall. His blood sprayed on the wall, some shreds of skull, brain, and hair pinned along, and the fishy odor mixed with the smell of gunpowder covered the air. The blood began to drop on the grain of the wooden floorboard from the hole of the shots…” The woman suddenly uttered, a very weak, cold, and downiest volume but enough to stream into my ears. It cut my mind off while she kept her sight out the courtyard.

We were junction in a separate room, a thickly pellucid wall bulletproof made of Polycarbonate but perforated with holes that help us communicate easily. Her hands were locked on the armchairs to immobilize herself. She posed a nobly straight-back sitting as usual. She was an elegant woman with a small face along with a sharp jaw, plus angelic pair of blue eyes. She was vividly beautiful on the pale skin that could see the nerve under and the long black hair. People never saw her with massive hair or went outside with bread in mouth because she was phenomenally chic in her lithe shape body. And even when being detention, she restlessly stabled her noble manners.

I pretend nodded to show that I was calm enough to hear her story and that she could share everything she felt and trusted me with her heart. But honestly, I was a bit shocked when she began talking. A throb arose inner me because of her remorseless eyes while explaining in detail each moment how shot her husband. It recalled how I was numbed when seeing she ate her husband. That is exactly what we had seen in the intrusion into her house. We had a lot of fates, from worshipping her talent to being her neighbor, then revealing her murder, and now becoming her mouthpiece. I swear that it was totally fate and I was not a stalker.

As I had said, because of her neighbor, I was the first one to realize her weird expression and the bad smell released when walking across the house. The lights were almost off except for a little one from the kitchen. I shouted to be sure that someone was inside, but the silence responded. I consciously called the cops and they came right after. The smell of corpses punched straight into our noses as soon as the door was opened. We stepped along the hallway to the place where the light was. The cops shone touches around and we discovered Ref’s upper body laid at the cul-de-sac. In the kitchen, a woman sitting at the table with a deliberate attitude while cutting raw meat and chewing its disgusted by the blood dripping.

I vomited. The house was totally in mess, I saw a Harp nearby his body, it gathered a bunch of blood on strings. I wondered if she played it after killing her husband. Some shreds of the body are scattered everywhere. A collection of ribs on the kitchen table. A lithe woman enjoyed the meal. I remembered Ref used to praise his wife’s cooking skill and that he loved it, every dish from her, and now he was one.

A jiffy later, she was restrained by the police and taken to detention. There was no struggle or resistance on her part. I could not find any emotion on her face at that moment. A murderously cold and silent.

“Why did you kill him”? I, actually, wanted to know why she ate him. However, I was not able to even utter a simple word in front of her. At this moment, in this breathless space, I merely exerted to destroy her silence, as much as possible.

“Everything, even time, space, and odor, seemed haft at that moment, at 03.13 early mornings.” She ignored my question and ongoing her story, but at least god blessed me that she replied. Her eyes kept sticking at the spruce while the lip opened slightly. “I could not remember what day was. He gazed at me by the wide open eyes, and just opened, even until his heart stopped working, he forgot close his eyes, or perhaps he tried to open, kept his abhor stare on me and accused me.”

I noticed her weep, and she said that she was scared, yet I supposed she was a cunning liar. She threw me a sign that she did not mind murdering her husband and that she was also scared by the horrible scene. I can’t trust it, no one put in my shoes do so. How comes she scared whilst keeping calm to enjoy Ref. Whether I rushedly condemned her or I was too shallow when impaling as she was a liar. I did not know why, but I completely imagined how much of her hatred was onto Reficul’s body with the disgusted eyes and the grimace, how she coldly looked at his misshapen head as much as picturing no lack a little thing in the room, and how she tried to pull his 6’1” body up and sat on the sofa to consider what part she should eat first. The sick feeling in the first soaked by the corpse's smell from the scene provoked me to be better feared by the woman in front, a goosebump on, and the cold ran along my backbone. She had appeared like a demon while consuming her husband then now she wanted to victimize. Even I knew it had something behind, but honestly, I was not ready if she could not widen the truth of the story. Perhaps even if she told me the truth, I could be disgusted and avoid melting into her soul as I had planned before. I suspected her terror feeling when murdering her husband, but I believed she could have always been scared in their marriage living. I did keep silent waiting for her story. Nevertheless, she at the same time was silent. I did not want to hear more of her revolted story, it was my responsibility but not today. So we decided to be silent, and she yet not gave me a sight throughout our meeting.

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