Jennifer, Jennifer, Jennifer. She is all I can think about these days. She is, or should I say was, a beautiful, unique, blah blah I could go on and on person. She made me laugh. She made me cry. I rooted for her to win.
Then I killed her.
Some of you might have seen it coming. Some, not so. After writing about her for three novels, I was bound to run out of story lines, was I not?
So in my last novel, I killed her. Well, technically, not me. I’m only a writer. Or you could say it was me that killed her. I don’t know anymore. I haven’t been the same since she has been gone so I will let you be the judge and jury.
As soon as I typed the last words of the novel, I started thinking it was a mistake. How can I kill her off? What will I write about next? Can I create another character as perfect as Jennifer?
But, I had spent the last five months of my life writing this novel and it went where it went. And now I am where I am.
In a way, you can say I loved her. I created her. She was everything to me. She was a part of my life for three years. Yes, I loved her. Maybe more than Tom, her husband in the novels. Yes, I miss her more than words can say.
She can’t be really gone, can she? But she is. 100% fact. Because I killed her. Well, again, I will say technically not me but when it comes down to it, it was me. I could’ve wrote that she killed the villain and lived happily ever after, but that is not what I wrote is it.
But, maybe, she isn’t really dead. After all, I’m the writer. I can bring her back.
All I have to do is start writing.
It was the storm of the decade. One that the locals will be talking about for years. The winds howled, the lightning struck, the rain fell from the heavens like the tears that fell from Tom’s eyes when Jennifer was murdered.
Tom always liked storms. The electricity in the air, the way the rain smell, how it felt like the world was being cleansed from its ugliness. Jennifer loved storms also.
Tom and Jennifer lived in the country, miles from anyone. Tom enjoys the solitude. Most people don’t get it, but Tom doesn’t get most people. Jennifer, on the other hand, was a people person. But it worked for both of them.
Tom sat on his front porch, watching the storm proceed with its cleansing.
It could not have been ten minutes when the large oak tree that stood thirty feet from their house was struck by three consecutive lightning strikes. It was within seconds of the third strike that Tom saw someone walking up his driveway.
Tom thought he must be seeing things. Like flash blindness after someone snaps a picture of you with the flash on. Just a blurred shape. But after a few blinks, the person was still there. Still walking toward Tom.
Tom sat there in silence as the person kept walking toward the porch. He wasn’t scared. He knew that walk. But he knew that it could not be her. That is when the sky lit up like the Fourth of July as more lightning struck.
He had no doubt it was her.
His lips said her name before his brain could ask how could this be.