Cliché Roses

It was already dark when he left his house. His cheek still hurt and his right hand still twitched from time to time. Jack had to admit that it was a great punch. But that was it - one punch, one scream, one quick slit with a knife and it was over. A group of kids ran pass him in their ridiculous Halloween costumes. They ignored him as much as he ignored them and for that he was thankful. Jack smiled at the cloudless night sky and saw it as a sign of a new beginning.

And it was a new beginning! Rose just moved back to the city and wanted to meet him. He still loved her and didn’t lose his hope to get back with her. And she wouldn’t feel the same way about him if she didn’t invite him for a dinner this night. The only thing that still bothered Jack was Tom. He knew that Tom heard Rose is back and he perfectly knew how that little prick would act. He will show up at her door with his new black Mercedes that his daddy bought him, he would give her red roses and a chocolate box. Jack chuckled to himself as he crossed the street towards his old pickup. Wasn’t it a bit cliché to give Rose red roses?

He saw his own reflection in the mirror of a coffee shop and he had to admit that he looked way worse than he expected. His cheek got puffed up and red and his upper lip was slowly bleeding. He was sure he had lost a few teeth. But he wanted to see her so badly that he rejected any of his thoughts of staying home. He spent the last two years slowly dying at home, alone, missing her, hoping that she would come back and love him as she always should have had. And now a little bit of blood won’t stop him from seeing her. It hadn’t stopped him this afternoon. So why would it stop him now? So he swallowed his own blood and got his car key out of his pocket. A little boy in a cowboy outfit showed up out of nowhere and pointed his small gun at Jack.

“Jesus, you scared me!” Jack sighed as he dropped his keys.

“Trick or treat!” commanded the boy bravely and aimed for his head.

“Sorry, no treats for robbers, boy.” answered Jack and got in his car.

“Where are you going? We are not done yet!” demanded the boy as he waved his arms with guns as a little windmill.

“I have to take care of this dead body.” Jack whispered and pointed to the big black bag in his trunk.

“You know, you should work on your excuses.” Said the boy, rolling his eyes, and looking around for a new victim.

Jack started the engine and laughed out loud. That boy did have a point. He should figure out what he is going to say Rose about his face. He drove about twenty minutes till he got out of the city, then he turned to the woods and drove for another five. “So what’s going to be the excuse?” he thought as he stopped the car at the end of the road. He went to the dentist and he had to remove a few teeth, so that’s the reason why his faced is so messed up, he wondered as he opened a trunk. But as he removed the bag and carried it further into the woods Jack felt more like saying that he got robbed last night and while he was trying to save himself, he got beat up. No, Rose will demand him to call the police, “That’s too much work”, he frowned as he walked back to his pickup. Maybe he could say that he had an accident at work that some huge machine fell down and hurt him. But when he had a petrol tank in his hand he shook his head. “No way she’s going to believe a machine crushed just my head.” Leaves and sticks cracked under his big leather boots as he walked around the bag, pouring petrol in a circle around it. Jack bent down to the black bag. He wanted to see that jerk for the last time before he disappeared out of his life. “Out of our life”, Jack corrected himself. No one will separate him from Rose now. And then he opened it. He noticed at once bruises on his right hand. Jack lit a match and looked into his eyes. They looked back at him calmly and quiet. Those were the qualities that he never possessed while he was alive. But they did look bright. “Bright as our new beginning”, mumbled Jack. The match fell down to the sea of leaves and started a small fire, which grew bigger and stronger.

As did Jack’s confidence. He got back in his car and drove to buy Rose some cliché roses. “Sports bar. I went to the sports bar and got beat up.” Thought Jack, as he brushed away some blood, running down his chin, with his jacket sleeve.