Completely motivated by all the encouragement bestowed upon me in the last post (and due to an extreme lack of time for posting a fresh, er, post), I have decided to take you all for granted, and subject you to my first piece of fiction ever. Just a confession, I did tweak this version a bit before posting it. Oh come on, the original piece was by a very immature 26 year old me, as against the supremely grown up, 27 year old me! Anyway, bouquets and brickbats welcome, but do remember, you asked for it!
Till death do us part
‘Till death do us part’.
She always found that phrase very romantic. The most romantic part of the wedding vows. She’d told him that. And he had laughed.’ That’s a big promise to make’ he’d said, grinning in this usual adorable way. But she’d said, however big, she would keep that promise.
‘What’s your promise to me then?’ ‘I will always keep you happy’, he’d said.
And she was happy, with him, with his promise, with their life. There was nothing more she could wish for. He was a good person. So very caring. Understanding. Romantic even.
And they were similar in so many ways. Like he was not obvious with his affections. As in, he was dead against displaying his love for the world to see. ‘That’s when you know it is forced’, he’d say. He was always subtle. But she could feel it. Which made her feel even more special, and wanted. Their love was their own, and there was no need for anyone else to know it, or understand it, as long as they did. And she did.
Of course, they had their arguments, and fights. But then who doesn’t? And it was never the same person who had to talk first. They almost took turns. It was perfect, in it’s own not-so-perfect way. And so, she was happy. Just as he had promised.
But then, things changed. Not in the most obvious ways, but in ways only she could tell. Or see. It would be an unanswered phone call. Or a cancelled dinner plan. A longer than usual strand of hair on his shirt. The whiff of a woman’s perfume. She was disturbed, a bit, but she chose to ignore it. He would not do anything to make her unhappy.
And then one day, he got her flowers. And this one act did what none of the other things could. She knew he hated these obvious displays of so-called affection. He had himself called them fake more than once. And here he was, tired after a long day at work, way beyond their dinner hour, standing outside the door, with a bouquet of roses instead of the usual scowl he had. In the regular world, it would have been sweet. In their world, it was just plain weird. It broke her heart. She knew things had gone wrong, way beyond her imagination.
And that was about all the evidence she needed, not a bit of doubt in her mind anymore. She didn’t believe in conflicts and confrontations. She knew it would turn ugly. She didn’t think it was of any help either. She had always believed in the age old concept of letting go of what was no longer yours. And this seemed to be like the perfect set up for putting her belief in action.
The night she decided that it was time; she knew exactly what she had to do. After a long dinner, followed by endless rounds of sparkling wine, she knew it wouldn’t hurt as much. And as he silently bled to his death on his side of the bed, she felt a twinge that he’d been unable to keep his promise to her.
But then, at least she had kept hers.