Too Bad, That Was A Nice Ring

A short story about revenge among the common heartbreak.

After having gone through the humiliation equivalent to that of being spat on by a queen, I looked up at my darling, or rather, ex darling, with tears distorting my vision; I could no longer see the beauty I had fallen for, both literally and figuratively.

 

                “You’ve cured me of my foolish obsession with love,” I spat out, in between sobs and heavy breathing.

                She looked down at me, complacent.

 

                “I . . .” she said. “I’m sorry.”

                “I forgave you a thousand times. I gave you everything. Everything, Rose!” I screamed. “I devoted myself categorically to you and everything pertaining to you and I promised you that everyone you had affairs with along the way didn’t matter if we could move on together!”

                “You don’t understand me!” she yelled.

                “I don’t understand what? Your lack of respect for everyone and everything besides yourself?”

 

                There was an audience to this bickering; we were stationed in the town’s local fancy restaurant. It was in fact the most revered in all of Paris; a few hundred dollars meant a nice meal in this place.

                I was on my knee, with a small, opened box in my grasp, while my malevolent beloved stood, glaring at me.

                On her face was fear, but I knew she meant for this.

                That’s all she was, a succubus, and I had been smitten by her façade.

 

                Moreover, the glint from the small box I had in my hands attracted the eyes of a few bystanders, its contents reflecting light from the chandeliers above.

 

                 She remained silent, with a growing smile on her face.

                “Whatever, Christian. You couldn’t please me enough as a woman and you will never be able to fall in love.”

                “You are a despicable fiend who deserves no less than damnation!” I bawled.

 

                My arms fell, the box within my right hand tumbling onto the floor, the contents of which dancing around upon hitting the floor, refracting more light.

 

                I collapsed fully, sobbing on the floor as she turned and walked away.

 

                Her stilettos clicking on the ground, in my mind, acted as a rhythm for which I stabbed a rusty knife unto her chest.

                Violence was more than necessary in my case; I gave up all my life to allocate my priorities to this woman, and I had literally been left with nothing for my own.

                Without her, I fail.

                Her frosted shoulders gleamed in the dim lighting of the restaurant as she neared the exit.

 

                My infuriation pulled the gun out of the back of my pants and led my feet to follow her.

 

                I pointed towards her as the gasps of others filled the room and I yelled to her.

 

                “Rose!” I said. “May your coffin be without padding to contrast your soft outer appearance with your stiff, rotten core.”

                 

                She turned and the bullet left the barrel.

 

Author's Note

I pray people understand what's going on.
I honestly don't think I was too secretive about what was happening though.

Ah well.

Reviews

[Ashley]

I liked the story very much sir galloway. Very descriptive..very you