It didn't make sense anymore.
...and it didn't have to.
Having closed her eyes, Lena found herself floating freely in a black void of oblivion. ...but she was not alone. All around her, little splintered shards of glass tumbled about glittering in all the colors of the rainbow, and on their every surface disjointed happy memories played out, over and over again.
Her lips broke out into a fond smile. It didn't have to make sense.
The virgin blade of the kitchen knife gleamed as she raised it, its edge facing outward, not for shallow cuts and slashes, but to stab and keep.
In fact, sense was only holding her back.
As she stood in the doorway, the blade at her side, she grinned at her friend, her chest heaving with heavy breathing.
Screaming with determination she rushed forward, and one swift motion later, she burrowed the blade straight into the neck.
Underneath her her friend gargled blood in a final death rattle, her eyes almost popping out of their sockets.
"I must sever the ties.", she explained before the unspoken, dying question. "In my head you sparkle like diamonds. Once you're dead, these memories are safe with me."
There was a sigh as her friend surrendered her struggles in final unconsciousness. Lena wedged the blade out of her friend. Looking up, she saw the memory sparkle before her inner vision, now purified and liberated with her as the sole owner, and she laughed at its clean beauty, and at how easy it all had been.
This was just the first step toward her liberation. She had to kill everyone. Everyone who was ever important to her. It was the only way to truly be free.
Smiling, she watched the final traces of her friend slowly rinse off the steel in a final display of a beautiful thinning waterfall of wine red, before disappearing into the sink. Maybe she was going to stab the whole world. Once she was finally liberated, nothing would stop her.
Having freshened up, and squeezed her bosom into a change of shirt, she headed back out. She had only needed to close her eyes and feel the biggest influence over her mind, to know where to head next. Riding the subway, she closed her eyes and remembered her. All the good times they had together. All those beautiful diamonds tethered and threatened by the sense that society forced upon everyone, like little children screaming to be set free.
Her friend opened the door, and recognizing her, she was happy to see her, and Lena caught that moment with perfect timing, as she buried the knife deep into her stomach, and plowed it ever upward. Even while wincing in pain and cutting her fingers trying to grasp the knife, she was still so beautiful. Only once the spasms had stopped, was that beauty truly Lena's own.
The water from the shower trailing down over her pale hips and breasts, before being cloven by her stiff nipples, Lena ran her fingers through her hair, letting the red of her friend mix with hers in a union beyond anything that the public news would ever dare touch upon.
...but a washing of the body was nothing compared to the cleansing she felt inside her. She could feel the filth inside her, the congealed cakes of shame and guilt that society had instilled in her through their molesting propaganda, and how they broke and rinsed off her very soul. Society condemned this because they feared it. "Murder" they would sneer. "Antisocial". They feared the pure and the free, because of the power that she now felt rushing through her very core.
As left the apartment building, she found the police waiting for her with weapons drawn. They told her to lower her weapon, but they had arrived too late. As she advanced with a smile on her face, they opened fire in vain. Freed from their control, bullets no longer touched her. Her eagerness fuelling her steps, she picked a target and rushed forward, raising the knife. They had obviously never been part of her collection of memories, and as they died, she would reject them as well, but they needed a display of power none-the-less. As the last cop fell, she saw his own memories being consumed by society. Nobody deserved such a total death.
She was writing her own fairytale now - a new kind of sense - her blade mightier than the pen. There was a stab for everything. A stab to tuck them in, a stab in the chest, a stab even for stabs, and a stab for the heavens above. As the blood that she had freed bellowed forth from their chests, she wrested from their tragic mundane lives new gems of power to fuel her innocence.
There were no shame or guilt where she was going, her wandering hips swaying to the determination of her new unsullied conscience. Soon they'd all finally be dead and part of her.
She returned to find the halls of her home just as trashed as she'd left it: Lights dim at best, the curtains - drawn and off kilter - still doing their best to filter in some light from outside in crude defiance. It lit up her work. As a testament to her madness, every inch of wallpaper around her she had painted blood red with various words evocing her most treasured memories, that now made up her nest. Even the air was dancing alive, not just with fairy dust bunnies, but also with merry laughter.
She kneeled before her makeshift shrine in devotion, presenting her knife to let the new memories she'd captured settle in each of their assigned place with the others, in a glowing simmer. This was the last of them. With this she'd finally made it - she was finally clean. It all resided in the walls of her nest now - the church of her new sanity and reality - and she sat back and laughed with them to her heart's content.