0:12 AM



Moonlight penetrates the foggy window, dancing, dazzling, and taunting the girl who stands – a shimmering silhouette. Her paper-thin fingers cling on to a bitter-sweet reminiscence of what was, and what will never be. She had wept blood from her heart, but he had cried crocodile tears.



0:20 AM



She wants to forget. She wants to erase him from her mind forever, to cleanse herself of those startling green eyes – those that had held her hypnotised with their beauty, their charm, their allure. Ah, sweet poison.



0:31 AM



Her lips, tinted with red lipstick, form a sad melody of melancholy. She picks up her pen with a quivering hand, then smoothes out the crinkled image with a mother's touch. A streetlight burns out. The moon seems to grow brighter in its absence.



0:47 AM



Illegible handwriting, like that of the typical teenager, scrawls the canvas. She pauses in her motion as the house gives an audible moan, reflecting her pain and throbbing heart. Ink spills.



1:07 AM



She opens the window, climbing out with a dragonfly's grace, perching upon the sill. Her breaths blend in with the soft, sighing wind. Her heartbeats form the rhythm of night.



1:08 AM



She turns around to gaze at the sleeping figure, lying alone in a bed meant for two. It dreams peacefully. She smiles without feeling and looks up, her face set into a malevolent mask. He's just like you, Mr. Moon, she whispers as her nails dig into her palm, with your pretentious glow - a mere shadow of what the sun can do.



She laughs slowly, unfurling her fingers and showing her palm to the source of heavenly light. See these crescents, Mr. Moon? she asks, trying to stifle a giggle, this is what you actually are: a tiny fragment of your bloated façade.



1:10 AM



Fffffffffft!



A spark is born, along with illuminating light and ominous silhouettes. She transfers the impatient, flickering ember to a dry piece of wood. Ironically, it's what he had beaten her with that night.



She holds the blazing torch up high, a ghastly glow revealing her high cheekbones full of promising beauty. Even I can do much better than you, Mr. Moon, she taunts as she tosses the radiating flame backwards.



Let me show you how it's done.



1:11 AM



The figure lets out a soulful shriek of misery – a dissonance of hatred and shock – as the fire blisters its flesh. She takes in the putrid scent that it brings, watching the figure writhe and dance like a puppet at a show. She laughs hysterically at its futile attempts to escape, with its wide-open mouth and blackening, charred skin. The blazes catch up and destroy its smoldering eyes.



Eyes are the windows to the soul, she quotes softly, oddly withdrawn in the midst of chaos. She reaches for its face, now a concoction of burnt flesh and skull. Her papery lips press onto its disfigured jaw as a burning lust stirs within her.



Good-bye, my love.