My heart grew heavy at the recollection of the murder of my Annabel, and my heart yearned for her back. Guilt flooded every ounce of blood in my body because I can never forgive myself for what I did to her, for "we loved with a love that was more than love", and never in a million years would I picture myself capable of killing the love of my life. All our life together "she lived with no other thought/ Than to love and be loved by me". I looked out of the little spot of the window that my purple curtains didn't cover right up at the bright, bright moon because "the moon never beams without bringing me dreams/ Of the beautiful Annabel Lee." Staring at the moon only brought me thoughts of an eye, a vulture eye, and this eye brings me to my
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All was well with my job, except that the the old man I took care of's eye. "He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it." Whenever I looked at his eye, or whenever the eye looked upon me, my whole body went rigid and my blood ran ice cold. Overtime, my patience for the eye wore very, very thin, and I could not look at the filmy eye without being infuriated at the man. I had to take action, but be extremely cautious unlike the last time. I planned to murder the old man, but it took me a week of watching him at night to build of a tiny ounce of courage to kill another being. On the last night of watching the old man sleep, I decided to strike. I remember hearing his heart beat oh so loudly. The beating was all I heard, and I could not drown it out. I knocked over the mans mattress and let it smother him to his untimely death. I then "dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs" and hid them underneath the floor board. I put the floor back together so that no soul could ever tell that the floor had been undone. I then began to pack my belongings as quickly as I could. I needed to be able to flee by the sun rise. However, an authorotive knock came about the door of the house,
All was well with my job, except that the the old man I took care of's eye. "He had the eye of a vulture --a pale blue eye, with a film over it." Whenever I looked at his eye, or whenever the eye looked upon me, my whole body went rigid and my blood ran ice cold. Overtime, my patience for the eye wore very, very thin, and I could not look at the filmy eye without being infuriated at the man. I had to take action, but be extremely cautious unlike the last time. I planned to murder the old man, but it took me a week of watching him at night to build of a tiny ounce of courage to kill another being. On the last night of watching the old man sleep, I decided to strike. I remember hearing his heart beat oh so loudly. The beating was all I heard, and I could not drown it out. I knocked over the mans mattress and let it smother him to his untimely death. I then "dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs" and hid them underneath the floor board. I put the floor back together so that no soul could ever tell that the floor had been undone. I then began to pack my belongings as quickly as I could. I needed to be able to flee by the sun rise. However, an authorotive knock came about the door of the house,