Monster

With each passing moment I feel more and more sick to my stomach. Who have I become? At what point did I become this evil force. Where did it come from. How could I have done this to you?

I remember the first day I brought you into my home. I secured your feet so that you could not get away, and dragged you into the darkest corner of my home. I felt no need to duct tape you, because thus far you had not spoken a word. I remember staring at you, and pondering your perfect beauty. Even in terrified silence, you still managed to make the room all that much better looking. That was on day one.

With each day that passed, when I would come to see you, you looked worse and worse. You were getting thinner, your skin was changing from a healthy pigment, to a sickish brown. I leaned down and asked you what was wrong, but you still said not a word.

I will probably always remember our last moments together. The day that I walked into the room, and there you were, slumped over… lifeless… dead. I deflated in that moment. It was like I had finally acquired something beautiful, and sadistically tortured it to death. I was, am, a monster.

Perhaps I am being overly dramatic about this. I just forgot to water you, and I am sorry. I should have never bought a houseplant.