I miss the constant push to write a blog post everyday, to everyone it meant english homework yet to me it meant an opportunity to write. Today, as I went passed my folders, deleting all my old documents, I came across my blog. At first, I laughed and a sudden urge of posting my high school work ran across my mind. So, here is one of my favourite written pieces and its called Alessandra Brambilla.
As I walk down the halls of my extravagant palace, I watch my feet take steps along the white Italian tiles, the undefying sound of my strutting steps makes me sound like a clockwork soldier. Everytime I come this way, it turns my stomach. Agostino, my architect should have never made these passages so narrow, the endless sound of the wind echoes through the passage, sending shivers down my spine. The dust always settles on this passage, and no matter how many servants I send down there, it always remains feculent, it’s like she is always there, watching my every move. Alessandra Brambilla was my wife, it was during the summer of 1968 that I killed her. I still remember that reckless night where darkness lurked from behind each wall of my extravagant palace, the feeling was familiar. I felt the same shivers go down my spine, though it wasn’t because of the sinister act I was about to perform but the act of murder brought to life my again.
Murder was always the remedy to a problem for me. I knew the act of murder well, along with the thrilling shivers it brought along. Alessandra Brambilla was the woman I loved, the woman I most cared for and the woman who was carrying my gorgeous child. Tonight seemed a lot like that night. As I walk down the hall, I see her ghastly portrait and those eyes- those eyes, I can see them burn through my heart like a blazing sword. Her deathly pale face contrasted with her white gown sunk in a pool of blood brought the feeling of satisfaction to my mind.
There are so many questions rushing through my mind, yet I am unable to answer them. The feeling of contentment is in my mind when I recall that dreadful night, but, a feeling of pain and torture overcomes that night when I walk through these halls. Alexandra Brambilla always had a dominant control over me, always busy clutching after gold, I could never disacknowledge her. Yet, I always sat there like a frightened calf, eyes cast down because she knew that, she knew I was helpless.