Story Idea, hardly developed.

As early as the dew sets on blades of grass, The goddess sets blades on the thickest vein she can stand, her voice is calm as she speaks into the voice recorder given to her last Christmas. At the time she thought "what the fuck am I going to do with a voice recorder? I'm no god damn journalist". Little did she know after the wretched winter passed she would have a pressing need to document a certain genre of her thoughtsalmost daily. These thoughts are that concerning a certain male she was beginning to grow very found of. One night, with spring waiting two steps to their left, they took a chilly stroll to the corner store. This is something they often did to buy twenty dollars too much worth of candy and sugar water. Three blocks from her apartment on the way home she was grabbed and pulled backward. Adam on her right, mirror images they were, scared shitless with leather covered hands hushing every word they dared to scream. Sydney's last memory was the one long slit their sharp knife carved perfectly from between her breasts to the crease of her vagina.

Two days after the event she woke in the hospital, foggy and sore. Adam was dead. The police found a body and no other evidence, and it is with vengeance and determination that Sydney cuts herself, each night, back peddling to that last memory, slowly talking into the voice recorder, trying to recall the faces that took the heart she almost had.