A little too perfect.

?

26th January.

I was walking home in the midnight chill, with my thoughts and the sounds of the night by my side, if the night did make any sound, that is. It was eerily quiet, as if I was walking through a ghost town, with the echoes of life, which seemed more distant than ever. Why did I choose to live here? The cold wind ceased almost instantaneously, and with it, a better question formed. Why do I choose to stay?

I immediately had an image of getting home, and falling asleep in her arms rushing into my head. Right, that's why. 

As I felt myself slip into the immersive world of nostalgia, and recalled my memories with her, it almost felt like I had escaped that cold and desolate wasteland I was walking through, and replaced it with something so full of life. But inevitably, all life withers away, and only a shadow persists.

I had started to reminisce on how we met. It was back in college, and I was studying late at the library. I thought I was alone, but there was a light yet elegant hum, coming from somewhere, and I fell in love, with solely the enchanting tune of her voice. I tried to find out where it was coming from, but I couldn't.
A few days passed by, and every night, I went to the library, and tried to find her, and my desperation and determination was only met with disappointment.

And one day, I was in the library, and silence enveloped the room. I unconsciously began to hum that exact tune, and when I looked up, I saw her. She had seemingly appeared in front of my eyes. She looked - what was the word? Ah, yes - she looked perfect.
As I began to recall her features, I started to notice that maybe, she looked a little too perfect.

Her smile a little too wide. A little too forced.

A sharp gust of wind had hit me, and I snapped back into reality. I recognized the sign, and realized I was almost home . Nostalgia is a slippery slope. I said in a hushed tone, and I wasn't quite fond of where it took me this time-

My thoughts were interrupted when I turned the corner of my house, and I saw her there, leaning against the door, with her apron on, a knife in one hand, and a book in the other.

"Good evening, hon." I waited for her to react or say something. "You must be cold, let's go inside."

"Good night." She corrected. "And don't pretend you're concerned about me, you just want dinner." She bowed her head down. I could tell she was suppressing the urge to smile.

"Well, that is why I married you, remember?" I said, placing a hand on her shoulder. I'm gonna regret that one later.

She couldn't resist the temptation but to break into a wide smile, and for a moment, I thought I saw something more in her eyes, something more and less than love.

"You're making dinner for the both of us today, mister, and maybe I'll remind you why you married me." She said, with a half-sinister smile, opened the door, and let us both inside.

As I made my way, I took off my coat, and hung my keys. We had a small house, but one that was big enough for the both of us. We never threw anything out, and you could notice it. The thin layer of dust everywhere, rust hugging the corners of any metallic object, half-cleaned cup rings formed on the arm of every chair.

She proceeded to the kitchen while I was taking off my boots. "I thought I was making dinner today." I shouted in a satirical voice.

She ignored me, and just shouted back. "You're late today, again, any reason?"

I moved to the kitchen and took a seat, facing opposite to her. She was cooking, and reading a book simultaneously. When I sat down, she set the book aside, and her focus shifted to me. We started to converse, and I noticed strangely that she still had the knife in her hand. She isn't using it. So why is she still holding it?

I took the thought and locked it up in a box, somewhere in my head. My work had cultivated my mind in a certain way, and sometimes I can't help but see everyone as a threat, someone to watch out for, even outside of work, and that can get old real fast.

Unable to get rid of the topic from my head, I began to talk about the absolutely bizarre day I had at work. I started delving into some of the details, and usually, she wouldn't mind, but this time, she started to grow quieter and quieter until I finally decided to ask her what was wrong.

"Um, are you feeling okay? You seem a little quiet." She didn't say a word, in response. "Is something wrong, hon?" I asked again, in a more diligent tone

. 

No response again. At this point, I was getting a little concerned, and just waited for her to speak or move, or do something.

Maybe she didn't like the sensitive theme or she wasn't that keen on listening to such a terrible thing. She usually didn't mind at all, why was she upset now? Most of my work doesn't house the most pleasant details, I had always known that. But, I wasn't aware it agitated her this much.

While I was thinking, she still hadn't moved or spoken. It was like she somehow caught sight of Medusa and instantly froze. This wasn't her being upset, this was-this was something else. Or maybe it's all a joke, and she's doing this on purpose to frighten me. But she stood so incredibly still.

Just like-just like the day I first saw her. I looked at her again, comparing it to my foggy memory.

I was scanning her entire posture, looking for similarities. This is absurd. There should be no reason I think of her this way. While I was scanning, and trying to grasp that last bit of hope that this was nothing, and it'll all be over soon, my eyes landed on her left hand, and - no.

Sh-she had been moving the entire time, she was moving her left arm. And when I saw what was in that hand, my mind went back to that place, that place where everyone was the enemy, and to my distraught, that place only told me the truth.

She held the knife in that hand, and she was slowly but steadily lifting it. I didn't know where it would go yet, and I didn't want to know. Th-There's still a chance she's just scaring me. I still held on to that bit of hope in the back of my mind, and oh, what good it did, when I finally understood where the knife was going.

I watched it, just being slightly lifted, every few seconds, and I watched it all the way till it had reached its location. 

She held the knife right next to her face, as if she was going to thrust it into something. Or someone-

No, don't think like that. And now, my entire body was at the edge of its seat, waiting for her to jump out, flash that dazzling smile of hers, and tell me it was all 

good fun.

You know what? That's it. This stops now. I motioned to snatch the knife out of her hand and, wait, what?

My heart jumped to my throat, when I realized, I couldn't move. I willed myself to jump out and grab it, kick my legs, move my arms, or just do anything, but I just couldn't. It was like I was watching a movie from someone else's eyes.

Now, there was nothing I could do but watch. Watch as she takes the knife, and plunge it - where? 

I still couldn't quite understand what evil force had orchestrated this, and more importantly, why?

My soul had run out with its tail between its legs long ago, but my body, my physical senses were trapped there, waiting for either the end, or a new beginning.

And I could never have been even remotely prepared for what came next. I had been thinking earlier, about how she looked exactly like when we first met. But there was one difference, I noted. And now she had completed the ensemble.

A wide smile spread out across her face, and I could confidently say that, yes - that was the woman I fell in love with. But I could also say that indeed, her smile was too wide, but this time it wasn't forced. And it was absolutely not charming.

It was as sinister as one could get. Her eyes burned with insanity. I couldn't do anything. My mind fell to the dogs long ago, and all I did was wait, watch, and enjoy every second while it lasted. Enjoy?

And for the final act, the piece de resistance', the one thing that no matter where I go - above or below, that I'll remember is the words that came out of that wretched mouth. Those words connected everything together, every last piece, every loose string, and all I could be was grateful that I had grasped the full picture.

But when I took a step back and looked at that picture, it invoked nothing but absolute fear, panic, and terror.  What I would give to forget those words. I might  rip it out of my head myself. But I couldn't. I couldn't.

"Among the Roses,

Among the Lilies,

Nobody can hurt you.”

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Author's Note

I do want any feedback I can get. Chapter name is a placeholder. No description as I don't want to spoil anything yet. The question mark at the beginning is to indicate who's point of view we're narrating from.