He swung her in his arms and memories came rushing back to him in a tidal wave of passion and love. Suddenly the dewy grass beneath his feet and the unnerving silence of midnight melted into the endless hills and blue skies of an ideal spring day. The clouds were puffy and white, and the air around felt crisp and refreshing.
  Another memory battled its way into his consciousness and presently he was sitting with his friends around a table at one of the many fraternity parties he attended in his college days. He remembered seeing her look at him from across the room and he took the bottle of liquor and turned the bottom up, flooding his throat with burning alcohol. Nonchalantly, he slammed the bottle down and wiped his mouth. He knew she had been watching him and he felt satisfied. He looked down and smiled, thinking of how the night would end up. The memories came faster now, accelerated into mere flashes of remembrance, still shots in the cinema of the past. A new bottle of Tequila. An empty shot glass being slammed onto the table and the raw burning of the throat. His jaw muscles clenched as he remembered that sensation.
  Reality jarred him back to his senses. He looked at her through eyes now teary in the frosty night. His chin trembled and he pulled her close, tightening his arms around her swollen body. Her skin was bloated and leathery, revolting to the touch. He squeezed his eyes shut and fought back another shower of memories, physically bracing himself for the onslaught of the past.
  His friend grabbed his arm and shook him, nudging him towards her with nods of drunken encouragement. He stumbled on a chair, caught himself on a refrigerator. Lights flashed in a darkened room, and he shouldered his way through crowds of people, each with a red plastic cup. He reached her finally, engaging in slurred small talk. She smiled and looked around coyly, with her arms cutely folded around herself. She carried no red plastic cup. Another flash. Now they were in a room, laying on a bed looking at the ceiling. His mouth opened and out flowed lines of rehearsed conversation, clever anecdotes and witty one-liners. She smiled and nodded politely, sometimes giggling at his stumbling speech. She could smell his fetid breath in the air. He remembered rolling over, forcing his body on top of hers. He kissed her, parting her lips with his hot tongue. She politely (if politely can be used) tried to push him from her, wanting to give him the subtle hint without hurting his feelings. He ignored her, forcing his hands under and up her dress, pinning her to the bed with his sheer body weight. She became frantic, started yelling. Then the flash of steel in front of him. He found his hand holding a pocketknife, the blade pressing against the underside of her chin, forcing a small ruby of blood from her flesh. No longer in control, his arm tensed, plunging into her jugular with no resistance. A warm spurt of blood sprayed him on the cheek, and he watched as her eyes widened in shock. A horrible gurgling escaped from her throat and her mouth opened, releasing a small gush of blood, staining her rumpled dress. She stopped moving, and he looked at the knife still in his hand. He could see his reflection in the blade, an emotionless face tinted red. He remembered dropping the knife and falling from the window. He felt the crack in his ankle but ignored it as he tried to run off away from the house. His world flashed again.
  Her gangrenous arms dangled at impossible angles and her unmoving head hung to the side like an overused rag doll. The remaining mop of greasy hair hung in thick clumps about her face. He sighed and laid her back down on the ground. He looked at her for a moment, and bent down so his face was virtually a hair’s width away from hers. He paused again as he stared back into lifeless eyes and then, as tender as a mother to a newborn, pursed his lips and planted a soft kiss on her right cheek, just below one bloated eye socket. He rose from her and took one last look as he strode from the grave, hesitating only to flick a piece of dead skin from his upper lip.
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yeah i know it's not that great, but just tell me stuff. thanks.

[edit] - tried to fix the paragraph indents. probably didn't work though.

[ February 06, 2002: Message edited by: the placebo ]