My Last Name

"I'm so excited to have your last name!" 

I remember when she said it to me, her brown eyes all aglow so that they were almost hazel, her long brown hair bundled up on top of her head. She had been sitting in my lap, her gentle body flush to mine. Her arms had been draped over my shoulders, playing with my hair. She had seemed so happy, and I truly was. She was the love of my life, what with her sharp jaw and bright eyes and her abundant love for everything golden. 

I didn't realize it until it was too late. Her cold knife interrupted the lovely warmth of the moment, crudely and without tact, not unlike when you run out of hot water in the midst of a shower. My chilly blood had spilled into her lap, gushing from my gut with all the fervor of a crowd escaping a burning building. I hadn't known what to do, what to say, so I just watched, gargling on my own lifeblood as she twisted that blade deeper into my stomach. 

Now here they lay, arms and legs tangled together in a raunchy pile of aftersex. And here I lay, perched on the chandelier, unscrewing it slowly, slowly ever so slowly, and savoring every moment where they lay, unaware of their soon to descend death. The only thing that could have made this revenge sweeter is if she had looked up then. If she had seen me in all my ghostly white, hovering above her and her new husband, she would have screamed with more passion now than she had before. That was comforting at least, I could make her scream better than he could. 

But alas it could not be so, for she never looked up, and the chandelier never fell. For in all my bitterness, in all my hate, I could not be the killer of both my fiancee and my brother.