Medusa

Based on the poem 'Medusa' by Carol Ann Duffy. It was part of an english project I had to do and I enjoyed writing it so I thought I should put it up here. :)

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1. Medusa

Level 10; doors opening.


My heels click on the metal floor of the lift, echoing around me. They mock me, the sharp noise piercing me. It’s almost deafening. Or is it? Am I deafened by my jealousy? It threatens to consume my soul, inhabit every fibre of my being. I can feel it waiting, waiting to surge out and possess my entirety. It’s there, like a cat waiting to pounce, longing for the right moment.

Level 9; doors opening.


The party was beautiful. White lilies, crystal glasses, red drapes. Classy. The red decor matched her lipsticked mouth, which was reflected in his eyes. I had watched her lazily drag her hand across his lapel, flirting with him from beneath her coal lashes. I had thought about her dying screams, while stirring my cocktail as if it was her blood. My lust for her death almost overcomes by lust for him. I stab my high heels into the metal of the lift, imagining her skin impaled on the spikes.


Level 8; doors opening.

I’d had to endure the night of him dancing with her, cradling her like he cared about her. His eyes danced when he looked at her face, waltzing along her lips. It’s all an act though, he still loves me really. His beauty sometimes threatens to overcome me, the pressure of his angelic appearance almost too much for me to bear. It cuts me like a knife when I look up at him. Cuts me like the way I’ll cut her. Won’t her designer outfits look flawless then, her scarlet blood spreading across her, staining her pale skin with betrayal. Staining it with the flames of hell. Staining it with my wrath.

Level 7; doors opening.

He had cupped her delicate face in his palm, looked at her in the way he had once looked at me. Was all of that an act? Or was it real? Real, of course. He still loves me, remember? I followed them covertly around the room, watching his every move. My fallen angel. Her collar bones had jutted out of her tight dress. They looked so easy to break. With a flick of my wrist, she’d be screaming in agony. Exactly how I want her to be. She can sing to him all she wants, lure him in with her siren like ways, but she’ll never be able to compete against me. She should be terrified.

Level 6;doors opening.

Her viper like arms curled around him, drawing him in. She’d glanced at me over his broad shoulder, smiling sweetly at me, before kissing him passionately, her eyes still trained on mine as she performed the deed. Her eyes held an invite, inviting me to fight for him. She did not know I was already fighting. What she doesn’t seem to understand, is that it’s easy to take someone’s belongings when they’re dead. Which is what she’ll be. Soon.

Level 5; doors opening.

My face had flushed as I watched them kiss, his hands intertwining so lovingly into her hair. He can’t really be in love with her, can he? I imagine myself firing my gun, hitting them both in the temple. They fall into a river of their own hot flaming blood. Her hair is bloody matted clumps. But I don’t want to kill him, my man, my lover. I might stab her. I’ll stab her in the heart. That way she can feel the murderous hate I have raging inside me and the agony she has put me through. The pain of love.

Level 4; doors opening.

That night had intensified my hate for her, fuelling it until a fire burned bright inside me, intent on murdering her until she had no breath left in her body. Oh, I will enjoy it. The way her face will contort in pain as she yells and screams for help. But no help will come, not this time, princess. I’ll stab her like Brutus stabbed Caesar. Cold blooded murder. The gun beneath my skirt pokes into my thigh, it’s asking me to shoot her instead. Maybe I should listen to it. Quicker that way. Less obvious. Maybe.

Level 3;doors opening.

Why does she not understand that he was mine first? First. He’s always mine. I loved him first, before her...before her! The injustice rips me in half, the force of it rocking my body. I wobble on my heels, grabbing onto the metal rail. I’m sweating. I need her blood; I need her dead before I can rest. She needs to die and I need to kill her. The siren has to die.

Level 2; doors opening.

The she devil enters. Perfect timing. She inclines her head at me. She looks nervous. She should be. She stands to the left of the door, just in front of me. Doesn’t she get that this is the perfect angle for me to shoot her? Her skinny frame shakes as the lift descends; her hand goes to the rail, steadying her. I have her body memorised. I’ve watched her enough to know that in a minute she’ll have to brush her fringe from her face. I’ll strike then. Her hair cascades down over her thin arms. Soon it’ll be splattered in blood, her unmoving form at my feet.

Level 1; doors opening.

The next people to get in the lift at the top will find her. Love is painful, isn’t it?

Level 1;doors closing.

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