Sleek Crimson Tears

She fell to the floor, filling the theater with a loud thud and sobs. Her icy tone made the sobs sound almost like laughter.
"It burns, doesn't it?," the man asked, sarcastically.
She replied only with a few blinks of her dark brown eyes, ending with them closing.


I remained seated, helpless, only able to watch the tragedy right before me.
A twisted voice in my head continued to assure me; I was next.
My cheeks began to get hot, my stomach turned, there was an unsettling lump in my throat, and a watery film covered my eyes. I felt the tears coming. I couldn't hold them in much longer...and with a huge gasp of breath, I weeped loudly. Everyone in the theater turned around and watched me.
Beyond the sound of my sobs, I could hear the heavy foot steps approaching, the disgusting sound of his deep breathing, coming closer.
Hestiantly, I looked up. Only to see the most frightening scene anyone could ever imagine.
The chains broken, the blood on the floor, the blood on her body, the blood on his whip. I remember...she was hung, only by her wrists. The man stood on the highest pedistal, announcing to everyone in the room about the show he was about to put on. The crowd cheered with excitment. Men, women, and children.
I remeber seeing her face before she was put to death. She was gorgeous, put in her most elegant robes, her body flawless from head to toe. Her short hair done in such a way that only a true princess could wear. Her golden shoes sparkling in the bright lights, and her eyes most promptly displayed on her snow-pale skin.
And now, her face caked with her own blood, her robes ripped from each swing of the whip, her closed eyes stained with tears, leaving only I to assume she was peacefully at rest.
My thoughts were immediantly interrupted. He was looming over me now, exposing me to his heavy breathing.
He rubbed the still-hot tears off my face, leaving a small trail of crimson blood.
"My dear, she deserved what she got. All the pain she caused others, all the bad deeds she has commited...Why be sad when one more piece of filth has now been removed?," he said.
I slapped his hand away from my face, and rubbed the blood off my cheek.
"It's okay. I understand your intention. Completley."
"Do you now? If you may, please, repeat it back to me?"
My body was shaking. The tears came back once again.
"If I may..." I rose from my seat, pulled my long hair back, and stood tall, trying to ignore the body only meters away.
"Your intention is no different than any other sick mass-murderer: You wish to take revenge, or confirm to all of us that you have an obvious socially isolated personality, or to prove any sick, twisted point you may have to hundreds of gullible humans and humiliate a beautiful young woman."
...Silence.
The woman whom everyone thought to be dead, began to rise up, her body shaking more with every inch. The whole theater turned to watch intently.
I stood in awe, wondering how someone who was beaten and whipped to a pulp could still move. Her wrists were raw from the chains and her hair sticked to her face because of how drenched it was.
The man who commited the failed murder was clearly enraged. He began to reach for the gun that was hidden in his pocket.
"Smile pretty," he said. He loaded the gun...and aimed.