The pin dropped, then they hammer.
She Found Me
This is a mercy killing, she whispered. It was a difficult thing to respond to considering she had inserted the barrel of a gun into my mouth.
Thirty days earlier things were starting to pick up for little old me. I had finally gotten over the fact that I had hopped on a plane and skipped halfway across the world to escape my wife, I had an actual, real job, and I felt determined to prove that I wasn’t pathetic, that I could live without the weight of dictatorial judgement on my shoulders. You could almost say I was flourishing.
Then I met Darcy. The round-headed brunette with a passion for neuroscience and a lazy eye. I was in a café, like in a nineties romance movie, and she was on the other side of the room giving me the eye. At least, I thought she was, but only one eye was pointed at me, while the other seemed fascinated by the air conditioning unit on the wall above her. I was tentative about making first contact, and it could hardly be said I was at the height of my confidence. Still, she came over, bought me a Danish, and the halo around her head glowed yellow.
Helena (my ex-wife)’s family had been rather rich. Mine had been rather non-existent. For this reason, I was pretty poor while we were getting together. I never asked anything from her, it was never about the money. But the very rich all have one thing in common: it’s always about the money. I thought it was tremendously kind of her to take me out for dinner all the time. All I could offer was some cheap food and a movie at my place, but she got bored of that after a short while. She needed the excess of some swanky restaurant, where all the staff wore suits and referred to customers as ‘sir’ and ‘madam’.
I don’t remember proposing, nor the wedding. It all happened a little fast. I think I smiled a lot, and spent a lot of money on rings.
Why she married me didn’t cross my mind until years later. Some guests had arrived for m’lady, and once I had taken their coats and fetched them some light refreshment, with the reminder that Helena would be with them as soon as possible, one of them asked if I was her butler. No, I replied, I am her husband.
Buried in their cacophonous laughter was the sound of a pin dropping.
As I died, I wondered how the bullet that was passing through my brain had also passed through customs. A mechanical failure? It doesn’t matter now, I suppose.