Goodbye, Cindy.

Look at you, down there, all crumpled. Your dress is a mess. Your hair is all tossed. Your beautiful swan like neck is twisted.

You wouldn't like that, would you? You were always so neat and tidy.

You wouldn't like the blood, Cindy. It's dark red and messy. You hated red, and mess.

You were always perfect, Cindy. Always so clean, so bright, so radiant.

"My diamond," Dad always called you.

What was I then?

If you were Little Miss Perfect, who was I?

Well, you are perfect now, aren't you? You are perfectly dead. Ha ha ha.

I know I shouldn't laugh, Cindy. Really, I do, but it was too easy.

I never dreamed it would be so easy. Oh, I dreamed about it a lot. I dreamed about it, wanted it, and felt guilty about it. Truly, Cindy, I feel guilty about it. Guilty and happy.

But I never knew it would be so easy.

One quick push.

One quick push, and down you went.

Look at you down there, all messy. So perfectly messy.

Ah, but Cindy, the front door is opening. They are returning, and I am beginning to cry. It is a horrible tragedy after all. A horrible, tragic accident. I have to cry to cry for you now Cindy. I have to run to tell them, Cindy. I hope you don't mind if I leave you for a minute.

"Cindy's dead Dad! Its horrible, but Cindy is dead."