Death By a Thousand Cuts

Miranda Morrissey
Jul 22, 2024
7 min read

Welcome back to the Taylor Swift Song Wheel Generator: The Writing Challenge!

When it comes to Taylor and her songs, they always fill my imagination up the way I believe great artists oftentimes refer to as "the muse". For my writing challenge, I took a song from an album, added a genre, and let the characters and the genre lead the way.

Death by a Thousand Cuts is one of my favorite songs (it was also one of my Surprise Songs, LA Night 3!) and of course, when I saw the genre going with it would be mystery, I knew this would be a story about the human psyche (one of my favorite things to write about AKA heartbreak and all the emotional trauma surrounding it -- just like Taylor herself loves to write about it, lol).

Please enjoy the fourth Wheel Generated Story! And if you decide to write along with me, please tag me in any Social Media posts, or send me an email so I can read it. :)

Lover - Death by a Thousand Cuts - Mystery

The morning after, I woke up late. For two years, I’d grown used to waking up to the loud whirring of the blender, Alexander making us breakfast smoothies. Every week he’d be on a different fruit kick. Strawberry and bananas; mango and peach; watermelon and kiwi. I loved his smoothies, but I loved our routine more. Smoothies with the BBC playing quietly in the background. The dance of getting dressed and sharing one bathroom in a tiny one-bedroom apartment. Holding hands as we left, the lift taking us down eight floors, where we’d part outside, heading for two different tube stations.

We’d get home at different times. I'm a teacher, he an electrician. My day is done around 5pm (I helped with after-school extracurriculars) and his day was done much later. Sometimes I’d make dinner, something easy like quesadillas or spaghetti, and sometimes I’d pick up Chipotle or Pizza Express. He’d come home, kick off his shoes, kiss me, eat dinner, and we’d fall asleep in bed together, ready to start it all over again.

Only, the routine is broken. Alexander came home and declared he was moving out.

“Moving out?” I’d asked, the pizza slice in my hand forgotten. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he said, avoiding my gaze. He began pacing around, grabbing items and clothing, bundling them in his arms.

“Alexander…?”

He shook his head. “Stop, Hanna. Just stop!”

My jaw hung open. I didn’t recognize the man before me. His chest heaved, his cheeks red. Sweat dripped down his temples and stained his shirt. Finally, he looked at me, those brown eyes rueful.

“I’m sorry, Hanna.”

And with that he’d walked out of the apartment, the hodgepodge of items still bundled haphazardly in his arms. I don’t know why, but I thought it was a joke. A cruel one, but a joke, nonetheless. I waited for two minutes, expecting him to burst through the door declaring he’d been trying out a new bit, and You should see your face!

But he didn’t.

Unfreezing, the pizza slice hanging so limp in my hand the cheese had half slid off the crust, I dropped it on the tiled floor and ran out the door, barely remembering to grab my keys and a coat. The lift took forever, and when I finally made it out of the building a gust of wind sent rain straight into my face. Spluttering and wiping the wetness from my eyes, I looked wildly around for him, but he was gone.

“Alexander!” I’d screamed. “Alexander!”

I got no answer.

I stood there, no idea what to do. It was late, and despite the bright lights of the city, and being right next to my home, I felt lost. I had nowhere to go, no instinct to follow. Alexander had been in my life for nearly four years. And he just expected me to let him go easily, just like that?

Growling under my breath, I pushed myself forward, finding myself at the entrance to his tube stop. I descended the stairs, used my card to get through the turnstile, and there he was, looking at his phone, waiting for the tube. The items were still in his arms. I approached him from the side, cautiously, as if approaching a wild bunny. There were tears streaking down his cheeks as he stared at his phone. I couldn’t make out what he was looking at, but a million questions ran through my mind.

What was going on? Why was he leaving? What was making him cry like that, in public? Was it me? Was it someone else? What did I do wrong? Did he do something wrong? Is there someone else?

The list went on, but all thought rushed from my mind as the train approached from behind me. Alexander’s head tilted up, expecting to see the tube, but he made eye contact with me instead.

“Hanna?”

“Why?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

“You tell me why, Alexander.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. My voice raised, and a few people were looking at us, which made him uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. “Why!”

He took a step towards me, his voice both loud and hushed as the train drew closer, wind flailing my hair about my face, the scream of the braking wheels drowning out most other conversation. “Hanna, please--”

“No!” I screamed. I was losing myself. He knew it too. “Come home. Please!”

“It’s not my home anymore.”

The train stopped; the doors opened. The late-night tourists reminded each other to Mind the Gap and giggled, their entire worlds not shattering around them like mine was. Alexander followed an elderly gent with a cane, then turned to face me again before the doors closed.

“I’m sorry, Hanna. Truly, I am.”

The doors slid shut. Screaming like a banshee I rushed to the side and started pounding on the window by his face. Startled, he jumped back. Snarling I screamed, “How could you? Why? Please, don’t do this! Alexander--!”

But it was too late. The train began to move, and a policeman grabbed my arm and jerked me away from the departing train, probably saving my life, the bloody bastard.

“Oi! Everything alright?” he asked me, taking in my wild appearance.

“No!” I shouted, or tried to. All the power had left my voice. I suddenly felt very weak, and empty. “I should get home…”

“Do you need any help?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Thank you.”

I stepped away and he let go of my arm. People stared at me as I left the station, and they only stopped looking once I was on the escalator. Too tired to walk up, I leaned against the side, my eyes seeing but not taking in the ads on the subway-tiled walls beside me. Back in the cold night air, rain and wind whipped around my face, but I didn’t notice. I moved like a zombie, dragging my feet, mouth hanging slightly open, eyes dazed and confused.

The traffic light turned red and I stopped out of habit. I’m not sure if I would have minded a black taxi or a red double-decker bus hitting me and ending my misery. It would serve Alexander right. But it didn’t do to hurt the people who would witness such a scene.

The light turned green and I looked up at the lights. They glowed unknowing, unfeeling. Like a magic eight ball, I suddenly found myself wanting to ask them questions, as if they could really answer me and tell me everything I wanted and needed to know.

Why did Alexander leave me?

What was I going to do now?

Will it be all right?

But of course, they wouldn’t know. They’re just lights directing the flow of traffic.

Somehow, I made it safely home, but it didn’t feel like home anymore. I shucked off my shoes and jacket. I didn’t bother putting the rest of the pizza away in the fridge. It would be months before I could look at a pizza again without tears welling in my eyes. I debated taking a shower, brushing my teeth and putting on pajamas, but I couldn’t muster up the energy for any of that.

Instead, I took off my clothes and crawled naked into bed. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. I dreamed of Alexander, of what the night should have been. Pizza. Movie. Bed. Snuggles. Morning.

I woke up with my arm squeezing his pillow into me, holding it like I would have held him. The sky outside the curtains was a bright blue, all the dark and stormy clouds of the previous night gone. It was too pretty. I started to cry.

When the tears gave me a moment of relief I sat up and my head throbbed. That’s what too much crying will do to you. I got up to get water and realized that for the first time in two years I’d slept in on a Saturday morning. It was 9am. I should have been awoken at 7:30am exactly to the sound of the blender. Suddenly my mouth was parched, my tongue heavy and dry. My stomach gurgled, starving. I didn’t know how to make smoothies. Especially not like how Alexander made them.

I threw the blender in the bin and quickly put on clothes, not bothering for a shower or any form of grooming. The morning air was chilled and the people subdued. Many looked hungover from incredible Friday nights. Could they tell mine had been the worst Friday night of my life?

As if on cue, I stumbled upon a smoothie shop with nothing but happy couples sitting out front, giggling and smiling at each other, all so happily in love. It was grotesque. Feeling queasy, I turned heel and jogged back home. I didn’t throw up, though I thought I was going to. Instead, I lay back down on the bed, wanting nothing to eat or drink – especially smoothies - ever again.

All I wanted was to know why.

My heart, my hips… Our song, our films… My spirit, my trust…

Did it all mean nothing to him? Did it mean everything? Did I give too much, or not enough? Was he scared? Was he relieved? Was he in love with someone else? Did he merely fall out of love with me?

I curled into myself and cried. If he never answered, I would never know.

How did people do this? Deal with a broken heart and go on with their lives like another human being hadn’t just shoved them through a waste disposal, poured lemon juice on the open wounds, and then gave them a towel soaked in gasoline instead of water to clean up with?

I guess like everyone else in the world- I was about to find out.

Thank you for reading! I'll be posting new stories every Monday. Please follow me on Social Media to stay up to date for all blog posts, books, and editing. Select the drop down menu below for links.

Social Media

You can also email me at MirandaMorrisseyBooks@Yahoo.com, I'd love to hear from you!

Welcome back to the Taylor Swift Song Wheel Generator: The Writing Challenge!

When it comes to Taylor and her songs, they always fill my imagination up the way I believe great artists oftentimes refer to as "the muse". For my writing challenge, I took a song from an album, added a genre, and let the characters and the genre lead the way.

Please enjoy the fourth Wheel Generated Story! And if you decide to write along with me, please tag me in any Social Media posts, or send me an email so I can read it. :)

Only, the routine is broken. Alexander came home and declared he was moving out.

“Moving out?” I’d asked, the pizza slice in my hand forgotten. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure yet,” he said, avoiding my gaze. He began pacing around, grabbing items and clothing, bundling them in his arms.

“Alexander…?”

He shook his head. “Stop, Hanna. Just stop!”

My jaw hung open. I didn’t recognize the man before me. His chest heaved, his cheeks red. Sweat dripped down his temples and stained his shirt. Finally, he looked at me, those brown eyes rueful.

“I’m sorry, Hanna.”

But he didn’t.

“Alexander!” I’d screamed. “Alexander!”

I got no answer.

I stood there, no idea what to do. It was late, and despite the bright lights of the city, and being right next to my home, I felt lost. I had nowhere to go, no instinct to follow. Alexander had been in my life for nearly four years. And he just expected me to let him go easily, just like that?

What was going on? Why was he leaving? What was making him cry like that, in public? Was it me? Was it someone else? What did I do wrong? Did he do something wrong? Is there someone else?

The list went on, but all thought rushed from my mind as the train approached from behind me. Alexander’s head tilted up, expecting to see the tube, but he made eye contact with me instead.

“Hanna?”

“Why?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

“You tell me why, Alexander.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. My voice raised, and a few people were looking at us, which made him uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. “Why!”

He took a step towards me, his voice both loud and hushed as the train drew closer, wind flailing my hair about my face, the scream of the braking wheels drowning out most other conversation. “Hanna, please--”

“No!” I screamed. I was losing myself. He knew it too. “Come home. Please!”

“It’s not my home anymore.”

The train stopped; the doors opened. The late-night tourists reminded each other to Mind the Gap and giggled, their entire worlds not shattering around them like mine was. Alexander followed an elderly gent with a cane, then turned to face me again before the doors closed.

“I’m sorry, Hanna. Truly, I am.”

The doors slid shut. Screaming like a banshee I rushed to the side and started pounding on the window by his face. Startled, he jumped back. Snarling I screamed, “How could you? Why? Please, don’t do this! Alexander--!”

But it was too late. The train began to move, and a policeman grabbed my arm and jerked me away from the departing train, probably saving my life, the bloody bastard.

“Oi! Everything alright?” he asked me, taking in my wild appearance.

“No!” I shouted, or tried to. All the power had left my voice. I suddenly felt very weak, and empty. “I should get home…”

“Do you need any help?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No. Thank you.”

The traffic light turned red and I stopped out of habit. I’m not sure if I would have minded a black taxi or a red double-decker bus hitting me and ending my misery. It would serve Alexander right. But it didn’t do to hurt the people who would witness such a scene.

The light turned green and I looked up at the lights. They glowed unknowing, unfeeling. Like a magic eight ball, I suddenly found myself wanting to ask them questions, as if they could really answer me and tell me everything I wanted and needed to know.

Why did Alexander leave me?

What was I going to do now?

Will it be all right?

But of course, they wouldn’t know. They’re just lights directing the flow of traffic.

Instead, I took off my clothes and crawled naked into bed. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. I dreamed of Alexander, of what the night should have been. Pizza. Movie. Bed. Snuggles. Morning.

I woke up with my arm squeezing his pillow into me, holding it like I would have held him. The sky outside the curtains was a bright blue, all the dark and stormy clouds of the previous night gone. It was too pretty. I started to cry.

I threw the blender in the bin and quickly put on clothes, not bothering for a shower or any form of grooming. The morning air was chilled and the people subdued. Many looked hungover from incredible Friday nights. Could they tell mine had been the worst Friday night of my life?

All I wanted was to know why.

My heart, my hips… Our song, our films… My spirit, my trust…

Did it all mean nothing to him? Did it mean everything? Did I give too much, or not enough? Was he scared? Was he relieved? Was he in love with someone else? Did he merely fall out of love with me?

I curled into myself and cried. If he never answered, I would never know.

How did people do this? Deal with a broken heart and go on with their lives like another human being hadn’t just shoved them through a waste disposal, poured lemon juice on the open wounds, and then gave them a towel soaked in gasoline instead of water to clean up with?

I guess like everyone else in the world- I was about to find out.

Thank you for reading! I'll be posting new stories every Monday. Please follow me on Social Media to stay up to date for all blog posts, books, and editing. Select the drop down menu below for links.

You can also email me at MirandaMorrisseyBooks@Yahoo.com, I'd love to hear from you!

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