Dead Women tell no tales, Honors English assignement. Options

[WhiteLotus*]

For my English class, I had to write a story as if Edgar Allen Poe wrote it..I came up with this:

Dead women tell no tales;only sad men write them down. But you may think of me more mad, perhaps even more insane than sad. Somehow though, I must let the blood flow from my brain to my hand onto this thin piece of parchment. Oh, how I remember the night so well. It was a dreary, rainy, cold afternoon. There was a bit of fog in the morning. I had just gotten back from my dull, exceptionally boring career as a journalist. My daily routine is just as dull and inconsiderate as watching water boil. I wake up, go to work, come home to see my wife, Beatrice, and sleep. The cycle continues on. However, I found my wife taking a long snooze upon my arrival. This had been ever so outlandish, for I always greet her at the kitchen, where she begins to prepare me supper. This made me quite upset, for I love her cooking and I was remarkably hungry. My routine had been altered, and she must pay. I tiptoed to the kitchen, hoping not to make a sound to even disturb the termites, which I knew were settling in my house. I walked swiftly to the knife block, and admired every knife Beatrice and I had owned. Each one different from the other, yet each had the same precision meant to kill. Each blade, shined in the glorious moonlight (for it had now turned to dusk), and it was so strenuous for me to choose which blade with which would do my wonderful, yet morbid deed. Finally, I chose three objects: the knife sharpener, the cleaver, and the butcher’s block. Grinning in utter despair, I walked back into the living room. I stopped abruptly, questioning myself about what would muffle the sounds of her screams? I quickly dug through my pockets, searching for anything that could deaden her atrocious scream. I finally found my blue cotton handkerchief, and upon finding it, tied it around her mouth. Even I was surprised, when she did not wake up. With the handkerchief in place, I decided to go straight for the kill. I raised the cleavers knife, and cut jaggedly into her throat. I could tell she was already long dead, but it did not yet satisfy me. I dismembered almost every body part of her.. I even plucked her eyeballs out of her eye sockets with my knife sharpener. I wiped the sweat off my brow. There was blood all over my newly installed carpet, and there was more blood on the couch. Yet, satisfaction was the greatest feeling ever to receive. The rain still fell down like an Armageddon flame.

[sadolakced acid]

hmm... includes a bit of Poe-ness in it.

can i be brutal? don't take it personally, it's just that i love poe, and would like to tell you how you can make it more poe-ish

1st: you need to show that the narrator's sanity is in question.

2nd: it lacks pyscology about the narrator's mindset. some internal arguments? maybe?

3rd: you need to show that the narrator doens't think killing her is wrong, but he is dealing out justice. he needs to remain calm.

umm... i have more but i don't want to be too brutal.

otherwise: it's a very nice story, just doen'st really match poe.