Blood pooled at his fingertips, down from his wrists, leaving crimson fingerprints on the grand piano's keys.
Dark, melancholy notes floated throughout the large room. Red droplets dripped to the plush white carpet. The same tune played constantly.
His hand flew out and he heard a 'thwap'. But he didn't care.
"Please stop it!" she cried. He was too angered to care. Harder and harder he hit her. It still wasn't enough. A glint caught his eyes – the ceramic pot on the stove. He picked it up.
She kept backing up, but would only end up in the corner. His arm flew up and she dropped to the polished linoleum.
Blood spread around her head, into her long mahogany hair. The white sundress was turning burgundy.
Realization dawned at what he had just done, causing him to drop to his knees.
"What have I done?" He meant to say, but all that came out was a broken sob.
His vision was becoming spotted, the loss of blood nearing fatal.
Good, he thought.
The piano keys were now completely covered in brownish-red circles. "Bloodstained Ivories, love."
The favorite song. The one he wrote for their wedding and played for her every night. No longer will that be.
"Forever silenced," he whispered before the blood loss was too much and he passed out. Never to awaken.
Short, I know. I wrote this in History.