My Roses

"Tell-tale Heart" Imitation/Short Story

Love is a disease. Love makes you do unimaginable things. Not me, I have learned to control this love thing. I've conquered it. No man can hurt me if I hurt them first. I once have almost fallen in loves horrible demise, but I saved myself. I can now say that love has advanced my senses and lead me to the right path, a path where I cannot get hurt. I am at peace now, like my husband.

My husband. Perfect. Charming. Hardworking. Handsome. What woman would have not wanted such a heavenly figure to be their own. I knew. I watched. All those swooned eyes following his every step when heading home. It was that smile, that broad smile that reeled a woman's gaze like a fishing pole. To think that I had to share that smile with other women made my headache and seeing that smile made my eyes burn. I refuse to share.

The last few nights I have done nothing but think about that smile and how to keep it to myself. How was I going to keep other women from seeing it? That smile. That smile. That smile. It was stamped in my brain. Every night I would stare at him while he slept. Hear the soft breaths coming from that mouth that was the basis of that smile. Again, I'd think about it. He is mine, that smile is for me. At any moment when he would wake I'd quickly shut my eyes in order to keep him at ease and not make him suspicious of anything.

The mornings were usual, I'd cook breakfast, make small talk, then he'd be off to work. There was no distaste of the smile. Just love. I do love him. I HATE that smile. I'd see him walk out the door and wait until he came back. By the time sun set approached he'd come home and I'd be outside working on my rose garden. Such a strong odor they gave off that I would even leave rose petals in a bowl inside our home to keep the lovely smell of roses circulating. That smell could mask any bad odor. Absolutely anything. I hear the fence wiggle. Click. Greetings. Laughter.

The married couple next door usually talks to him and I approach the conversation when I see him by the fence. It's only the woman. My fiery wrath for the smile flares again. He reflects that smile. My smile. No one else's. My hand clenched the dead rose in my palm, I looked down and it withered to the floor. No pain can match the pain I feel when I must share that smile. He waves me over. I love this man so much I'll do anything to make him happy. I walk over. I stare at the woman. She's horrific to look at. So why does my husband shoot a smile at her. Where is YOUR husband? Look at HIS smile. I want to drag my husband into the house and yell at him. That is my smile not hers or any other woman's. After their conversation ends, due to the clouds piling up and a few sprinkles of the depressing rain approaching, we enter our home. She can stay in the rain all she wants. Once in the house, my body cools down no longer hot from the annoyance of that woman sharing smiles with my husband.

I am waiting in bed. My husband has bathed and is now putting on his night garments, he turns to smile at me. My breath is wisped away by the broad warm smile that can brighten any rainy day. That smile is mine forever. I am going to be the keeper of that smile until the end of his days. I sit up right from the bed and put on my best smile, then I get up to walk slowly towards him. My slippers drag, and he hears me approaching. I smile as he looks towards me and he meets me halfway to embrace me. He lets go and we gaze at each other, smiling. I bring my hands up and place one palm on each side of his head. He kept smiling. With the little power I had I turned his head to my right and crack. Silence.

I took a deep breath and smiled to myself. Just as I imagined it would sound like. Finally, that smile is mine to hold forever until the end of my days. The deed was done, and I proceeded to cutting his body into preservable pieces. That night, I slept soundly with the smiling head displayed on my nightstand in a bowl to keep the blood from making a mess. That was the only problem, what a mess did this man's body make, it will take a good week to clean up.

Early in the morning, the sky was still dark, and gray crowded with clouds. I brought out my flower basket, in it was his body parts. I buried them under my rose bush, the smell of roses hid the rotten dead lingering smell of fingers, feet and belly, especially after the rain. No one was outside, it was too gloomy outside to even look out the window, but my neighbors were. I acknowledged their quizzical look with a smile and wave with my dead roses in hand. They smiled and went back to their own lives.

In the end, what remained was his head, still with the smile stuck on his face, now in a cleaner bowl and a lot of rose petals in it. I knew that the policeman would arrive at the house as soon as the neighbor, who wanted to share my husband's smile, noticed him missing. In the meantime, I lifted his head carefully and stared it with a smile. My smile. My smile. My smile.