April showers bring May flowers: at least, that’s what my psychiatrist used to tell me. He was referring to the fact that if I put in the time and the effort to get well and took my meds, I would, most likely, be able to flourish in my world. But, how the hell did he have any idea what my world was like! My world had major roadblocks of voices and noises and highs and lows. I always sensed that I was on an ear-splitting roller coaster than never stopped, just climbed to the top and then plunged to the bottom. My life rained all the time and there were never any flowers.

But then, I began to hear the voices encouraging me to go ahead and plant the damn flowers since my life was all washed up any way. Soon, I was planting bulbs and seeds and whole plants from the nursery, digging deeply into the soil with my bare hands. It felt exhilarating to let the dirt sift through my fingers as I dug a huge hole, never stopping, although it was way too big for the plants I had bought. I couldn’t stop because I felt I was having a breakthrough as I dredged the refuse from my life in little gobs and bits. I looked down at my transparent hands in amazement as they bled into the rich earth, exorcising my sins and horrendous thoughts.

I closed my eyes in rhapsody as I realized that, although the flowers did not fit, I could fill the hole with my problems, cover them up completely and leave the demons there to fester and suffocate. “And that, officer, is why I had to murder my psychiatrist!”

"April showers bring May flowers, at least, that's what my wife used to tell me."

Frank always dreamed of marrying Kelly. She was the girl of his dreams. He made a vow to himself that he would forever love, protect and be there for his future wife.

Kelly loved every moment she spent with Frank. She didn't realize how much she was adored. Not only by Frank, but also his best friend-Marvin.

Although Marvin was Frank's best friend, he had an odd problem of always trying to beat his pal in almost anything. When he found out that Frank wanted to be with Kelly, he thought that he could try to win Kelly's heart before Frank. Little did Marvin realize that Kelly had grown fond of being with Frank. And no other person was going to ever change that.

Marvin was present on their wedding day. He even booked the hotel for their honeymoon.

One day when Frank was working in his workshop, he heard a scream. Someone broke into the house. He ran to save Kelly. Frank couldn't believe his eyes. It was Marvin. He tried to hurt his wife.

Then a second later, Marvin reached into his pocket and pulled out a cinquedea. Kelly was held in a tight-lock grip with Marvin's other hand.

Frank tried talking to Marvin to stop with the crazy act. Why was he trying to kill Kelly?

Then Marvin told him that if he couldn't have Kelly, no one else would. Not even Frank.

Frank's heart sunk. His life wouldn't be the same without his darling wife in it. With an electric reflex, he grabbed his dagger from his belt and threw it into Marvin's hand.

There was a loud groan of pain. Kelly was released from her crazy husband's best friend's grasp.

In a few seconds, Frank used the same dagger that he threw to pierce into Marvin's torso. It went right through his chest and into his heart.

"After that event, Kelly wasn't quite comfortable living with me. She decided that we should part ways. That was the last time I ever saw her. I did get a letter a while later that she's expecting a child. I haven't replied to her letter yet. Maybe, once I get my sentence cleared I can be with my family."

"And that, officer, is why I had to murder my best friend."

"April showers, bring May flowers, at least that's what my Aunt Myrtle used to tell me. She was one for the flowers, all right. Peonies, foxglove, roses, daffodils, irises, crocuses, you name it, she loved them. Grew as many as she possibly could in the small garden in back of her house, each species trying to choke out all the other ones, it was so full. She even said she wanted to die in April. That way, after the rains, she'd really be pushing up daisies come May. Thought it was a crime to die at any other time of year because the flowers just wouldn't be nice enough to justify digging a hole in the ground.

"Then there was my Uncle Harold. Lord knows why he married Myrtle - they were as different as two peas in two different pods. He hated the flowers, thought of them as a nuisance that had to be watered and fertilized and fussed over, all so that you could cut them and have them wilt and die within a couple of days being stuffed in a box of a house. And they set off his allergies, too. Walked around the house with a box of tissues, gulping Sudafed, and sneezing his head off. Add that to his already crotchety nature, and you had an explosion going off every few minutes, especially when Myrtle kept shoving flowers under his nose to "breathe in the stimulating vapors," as she called it.

"So, it was February, and Uncle Harold wasn't feeling very good. He had pains in his stomach and back, and he was always tired, even more so than when he was dealing with one of Myrtle's cleaning frenzies and had to rush from room to room to escape the vacuum cleaner trying to suck him up with the "rest of the dirt," as Myrtle sometimes said. He went over to his doctor, who sent him for some tests, which then resulted in some more tests, until he finally ended up at the oncologist. Turns out he had liver cancer, and it had metastacized to other organs and his lymphatic system, so it was pretty much inoperable. The doctor gave him six months at the outside. Myrtle was outraged. How could anyone die in September or October? It was starting to get cold then, and she'd have to stand outside for the funeral, and then there would be the leaves falling so the grave would need cleaning up every couple of days. Who had time for that? From then on, she focused her attention pretty much entirely on her indoor plants, except for grumbling and grousing constantly to me when I was there, or calling me in the middle of the night to do the same. It was "Harold this, Harold that. Woe is me!"

"She made my life pretty much a living hell, and nothing I did would get her off my case. It got to the point where I even considered jumping off a building to make it stop, but then I'm so much of a coward that way, I'd never really do it. Come the beginning of April, though, and she was like a pit bull after me. She couldn't bear six months of Harold's suffering, only to have the indignity of a fall funeral, and couldn't I please, please bring a ray of sunshine into her miserable life? Suddenly that was all I was thinking about, too, and a spring funeral to push up daisies in May sounded pretty rosy to me. And that, officer, is why I had to murder my Uncle Harold."

"Um, would you mind putting some flowers on his grave every month after you lock me up? It would mean so much to Myrtle - and to me."

April showers bring

May

Flowers, at least

That's what my mattress

Tag used

To tell me

Before I ripped

It free

And that,

Officer,

Is why I had

To murder

The lawn boy.

April showers bring May flowers, at least, that's what my invisible friends used to tell me, during those long, rainy thunderstorms, in the dark, in the night! The things my invisible friends used to tell me might shock you, especially during those dark nights. Anyway, that's how I knew my neighbors were plotting to kill me, my invisible friends told me. You may question them if you wish.

And that, officer, is why I had to murder my neighbors.

April showers bring May flowers, at least, that's my friend used to tell me. Of course, she didn't understand that there's a heck of a difference between " April showers" and a full blown hurricane. And all hurricanes bring is destruction, loss, and heartbreak.

So, maybe May flowers work for her, but my storms don't have silver linings. My clouds don't seem to have linings at all. Just this never ending torrent or water, winds, heck! hail, sleet, lightning, a tornado or two. Whatever life just feels like throwing at me on any given day.

I could talk about the earthquake when I was seven when my dad decided to up and leave the family. I could go on about the thunderstorms of my mom's growing alcoholism. I could tell about the nights full of hail and sleet as I tried to cry away the sounds of my family's problems.

The constant winds blowing at me as I was labeled the kid her father didn't want. The debris caught in the wind pummeling me with the harsh words of others. But you know, I kept standing. I let the wind blow. I let the ground shake. Lightning struck, thunder roared. I ignored it or, at least, pretended I did.

But even the strongest of trees can't stand up to a tornado. And, boy, did my tornado hit hard.

I was twenty-two, in love, no cares. My natural disaster of a past was behind me. He was my rock, my precious umbrella. He shielded me from all those awful things, helped me put them in the past. I was living in sunshine, for a moment, that is. Everything was good until the tornado came and swept him away.

This tornado had a name, a figure, and her daddy's wallet. Of course my umbrella was swept away. But that was the last straw. I wasn't going to stand by and let something else ruin my life. I wasn't going to watch as the tornado spun around me with my beloved in her arms.

I decided to become the natural disaster of someone else's happy life. I decided to rush through and ruin any plans they had. I began spinning and didn't stop or even look back until I had succeeded.

My umbrella would never be swept away again. I would never allow him to be swirled in the arms of anyone but me. So, I had to make sure I was the last arms he would ever feel the embrace of.

And that, officer, is why I had to murder my beloved.

April showers bring May flowers; at least, that’s what my shrink used to tell me. If she’d known where that would lead, she might have chosen different words. But that was the phrase she used and that was the phrase that started it all. Logically, I knew she was just trying to tell me that hard times can result in something beautiful. Still, I took it to mean something else entirely. This is the story of how my April showers brought May flowers.

I left my shrink’s office that April afternoon with an idea. It was a brilliant idea, marvelous. It was an idea that I was almost afraid to carry out lest the manifestation turn out less than I anticipated. My footsteps scuffed along the concrete car park as I made my way towards my car. Absently, I twirled my keys on my finger, the silver pieces of metal spinning as quickly as my thoughts. A grin spread across my face. Who could be my first victim? Dozens of faces paraded through my mind the entire drive home, like a fashion show; pompous Damien who lived in my apartment building – he thought he was so good with his fancy suits and trophy wife; Cindy, my sister’s friend who had turned me down when I’d asked her out; Officer Luke, a work colleague who always got on my nerves – especially when he got promoted before me, which only happened because he stole a case I was working on. I’d almost cracked it, I was closing in on the suspect and he came breezing in with his cocksure attitude, steroid injected body and loud mouth, taking over all my hard work. Yes, I was a police officer. I had seen the seedy underbelly of humanity. I had seen the death and destruction that one simple act could create. And it had enthralled me. Something so small, so seemingly minuscule could hold such power. I remember this one time when we had brought in a murder suspect. He came striding into the station, head high and a smirk on his lips. I couldn’t help but stare. I had not been on the police force long and this was the first murderer I had seen. The power emanating from him was palpable and the affect he had on those around him was immediate. Even the most seasoned officers squirmed as he passed them. I was fascinated. As a police officer, I was supposed to be intimidating and authoritative, imposing and forceful, yet, this killer held more of these traits than any copper I’d ever met. I wanted that.

My need for control came from the way my parents had treated me, of course, so my shrink had told me anyway. She related all my issues back to my parents and my childhood. She was probably right. They had wanted to dictate my entire life and eventually, I had rebelled. I left home and joined the police force thinking that no one would ever be able to control me again. I would be the ultimate picture of authority. How wrong I had been. Sure, most people respected the police, but there were also a lot who didn’t. I couldn’t imagine anyone going up against this larger than life killer who was now seated in the interrogation room, hands handcuffed to the table. Maybe that was the event that really started it all. My shrink just pushed me over the edge and brought my fantasies into fruition. I liked to think of it as my little experiment. I’d always been smart, practically a genius. Making this into an experiment would satisfy my scientific flair. My hypothesis – all April showers bring May flowers, no matter what type of shower it was. The shower represented the bad times so, it was time to make it rain blood.

I chose April tenth to begin. By this time, I had settled on Cindy as my first target. Stalking her had been easy. I watched as she and a friend left for a night of partying and once she was out of sight, I snuck into her house. My gloved fingers picked the lock and once inside, I re-locked it. A black balaclava hid my face. It was hot underneath but I was not going to remove it. I walked through the house and found a place to hide and there I stayed until I heard the unmistakable sounds of Cindy returning. What happened next is a little fuzzy but, I will never forget that beautiful, piercing scream. That moment she first saw me, when she realized what was about to happen, her pretty red mouth opened and started to sing the sweet melody of fear. And then, all too soon, it stopped. Just like that. There was blood everywhere. My heart was pounding and my head was spinning in ecstasy. I’d done it. My first kill. And I couldn’t even remember how I had done it! I was furious. Taking a breath, I tried to calm myself. Never mind, there’s always the next one. With that thought, I started planning the next attack.

April 2006 will go down as one of the bloodiest months in the history of my home town. In April 2006, it rained crimson showers. From the tenth to thirtieth, one person was killed every day and then, the murders mysteriously ceased on May first. The town was left to deal with the wreckage of so many lives lost. I watched from the shadows as the bodies were buried in the town’s cemetery. After each funeral, when the mourners had cleared, I would skulk across into the graveyard, my hands in my pockets fingering the little seeds inside. I would walk right up the freshest grave, take a few of those seeds and press them into the freshly turned earth. By May twenty, the graveyard had never looked prettier.

Thus concludes my experiment. It was my finest work but, there was nothing else for me to do now. What could possibly top that? That’s the problem with pulling out the big guns first – there is nowhere else to go after that except down. So, I proved my hypothesis. I have proven that April showers really do bring May flowers, and that Officer, is why I had to murder myself.

"April showers bring May flowers, at least, that's what my mother used to tell me."

She was a kind lady and whenever I got in trouble she would say that. For the longest time I had no clue what it meant. I always thought pretty May flowers would come after the rain of April. I was wrong. My name is April and I am an 18 year old female. I work at Starbucks and one day I met my best friend, May. She was like a sister I never had until she stole my boyfriend. Now, that saying makes sense. I, April, showered my knife over May and know May is growing flowers. And that, officer, is why I had to murder my best friend.

April showers bring May flowers, at least that's what my mom used to tell me. Unlike the rain, which was ever so present in our part of the world during the month of April, my mother was rather absent. Her physical absence never bothered me much because she had never been emotionally available to me. When she disappeared for a bit, I always assumed she was searching for more flowers to plant on our family's endless acres. Her beautiful blooms were as endless as those acres come May and they were also the envy of the little old ladies in our town and surrounding area. No one knew mom's secret, not even me. Ladies would stop by for tea and try to sneak peeks at mom's gardening tools, the soil she used, and what was in her compost bucket. Still, nobody's blooms could measure up.

Those lovely flowers were a pleasant distraction from the unpleasant occurrences happening in town. The disappearance of well-to-do men in our small area of the world had me terrified. Ever since I could remember, men had been disappearing. Maybe one or two over the course of a few years and never enough to make people curious. They would just chalk it up to, "he musta got sick of his wife and left" ,or, "maybe he found him another woman". There was no real concern and never an investigation.

These disappearances had always bothered me seeing as my dad was the first to disappear. My dad wasn't the kind of man to run out on his family. My mom might argue, but I knew my dad and if he did plan on leaving, I know he would have taken me with him. I still search for him and long for him. I don't think the void he left will ever be filled. One day he was there and the next he was gone with no explanation, no answers, no closure. In moments like these, all I have are his pictures and I lose myself in every memory. As I sit, staring at an old picture of the two of us at the park, I hear my mom's tires screech to a halt. The sound is more distant than usual, but I put the picture away to avoid having an awkward, emotionally detached moment with my mom about the only person with whom I've ever been emotionally attached.

I look over at the clock and notice it is two in the morning! What in the world is she doing out so late? Especially in this heavy of a downpour. I peek through the blinds and see her hovered over the trunk of her car, parked on the other side of the cattle guard. Suddenly, the passenger side door swings open and I can make out the shadow of a tall, slender man. It is too dark and raining too hard for me to know who it is, but I have a feeling it is the local pharmacist, Mr. Jenkins. He walks over to help my mom lift bags of soil and what appears to be large gardening shears out of the trunk. The next thing I know, they are passionately embracing one another and then....yuck! They are making love. For the life me I don't understand why I am still peering through the blinds at this disgusting moment and then....I see my mom reach for the gardening shears and drive them straight into the chest of Mr. Jenkins. I fall to my knees and began retching uncontrollably when it hits me as hard as the cold, backhand of reality only can....my father! This is what happened to my father!!! And all the other men in town who had disappeared! Anger and confusion consume me. All I see is red. In a rush, I make my way to my father's gun closet. I feel robotic in movement as I am not thinking or processing my next move, just doing. Then, there she is, standing before me, the cold-hearted murderer who I know killed my father. Without a thought, without a question, without a care, I fire my dad's twelve gauge at close range. My mother is killed on impact, her blood is coating the wooden, rickety, farmhouse floors, and I am feverishly shaking from shock. I make my way to the kitchen, dial the sheriff and wait.

As I await Sheriff Smith, contemplating my inevitable arrest and stint in prison, I sip on bourbon, the same my dad used to drink. Was this out of vengeance or do I suffer from the same psychotic desire to kill that my mother had? Sheriff Smith arrives. I reiterate the night. I tell him, "she was responsible for the men disappearing in this town, including my father. And that, officer, is why I had to murder my mother".

"April showers bring May flowers," at least, that's what my Aunt Cindy used to tell me. She would always remind me of this when I was sitting inside on a cold, rainy day, staring longingly outside at the grey puffy clouds and the water falling from the skies. After I pout for a few moments longer, she would whisk me away to bake cookies or to play dress up with her clothes. I loved my Aunt Cindy as I would a mother, since mine had decided that I wasn't worth all the responsibility. I was lucky to have a caring person such as my Aunt Cindy come to my aid when my mom didn't want me. 

Now though, I have no one, because of one scared house robber with a gun. This robber had been taken by surprise completely when she first caught sight of my Aunt Cindy in her bathrobe, padding down the hallway to the bathroom, unaware of the trespasser right behind her. 

That's when she was shot, with her back turned to her murderer. 

I got home that night, as I had been at a friends house, to see Aunt Cindy's bloody body splayed out in the hallway. I screamed hysterically, my hand covering my mouth as I rushed over to her, afraid to touch her body and confirm what I knew to be true. Instead, I pulled my cell phone shakily out of my pocket, and called 911, my voice eerily calm while I explained to the operator what had happened. 

The police came, asking me millions of questions, and I barely remember any of the answers I gave. They then escorted me to a police car that was heading to the station, since I was a minor with no guardian and a killer was still at large. They had asked if I'd wanted to stay with a friend, but I was in no mood for company at that moment, so I opted for the police station in hopes that I would be forgotten in the bustle of people coming and going.

I vowed that night to take revenge on whoever it was that had robbed me of the one person who had loved me unconditionally my whole life. Eventually, I was placed with another relative, but I stayed in touch with the police, making sure that I was as involved in the investigation as I could be. That's how I found out who the robber was.

It was my mother.

She had came into the house, hoping to take some money for whatever it was that she did, while she thought no one was home. I don't know why she had a gun, but to me, that's not what matters. 

What matters is the fact that she was capable of using it on her sister. 

What matters is that she took the one person from me who loved me the way a mother was supposed to. 

What matters is that she needed to learn the consequences of her selfishness, once and for all.

And that, officer, is why I had to murder my mother.