Wednesday, December 21, 2016

Mmmmm, Good Coffee

Right up until the very moment her husband died, Sara thought that killing him on Christmas morning might be pushing it.

I mean how cold-hearted do you have to be to commit murder on that day? It seemed so out of line with all the joy of the holiday - both real and manufactured - that maybe it was just too much. Too evil.

Almost seemed sacriligious.

However, when Jacques fell over dead right under the Christmas tree, Sara's good cheer went right through the roof. She had never experienced holiday joy so intense before. Ever.

She started hating the son of a bitch decades ago. At some point she just decided that he was a loser. A real fucking wimp. Spineless. Ball-less. A fucking dreamer.

Sara was a suck it up girl. Her philosophy of life, if you want to call it that, was that you just had to suck it up. And keep sucking it up, through poverty, soul crushing jobs, and a nonexistent future until you sucked it up right into the grave.

She considered herself perfect. Her opinions were gospel; anybody could see that and only a fool would disagree. Or a dreamer.

Jacques, however, believed that a suck it up philosophy condemned a person to a meaningless life of drudgery and loss; the ultimate waste of a life. Accepting life's bullshit seemed cowardly to him.

He aspired to more.

The problem was that Jacques got pinned somewhere between his dream and reality. Stuck with one, unable to move towards the other.

This drove Sara crazy. In her perfection she decided that Jacques had to die.

She slipped the tasteless, odorless poison into Jacque's coffee just before they sat in front of the Christmas tree to open their presents.

Jacques often got emotional on holidays. He felt that he and Sara had come a long way through life. On this morning, he told Sara how much he loved her and how good he felt about where they were in their relationship. He meant it with all of his heart.

As he spoke and Sara smiled, she was thinking what an asshole and a loser he was and that she hoped he enjoyed his last cup of fucking precious dark roast coffee before he keeled over and died.

Ten minutes later Jacques dropped his cup, clutched at his throat, and looked wild eyed at Sara as he choked and gasped for breath.

She wondered what he thought as she looked back with a smile and flipped him off.

As Sara looked at his body under the tree she suddenly realized it was the best present she had ever gotten.

"Merry Christmas, you fucking loser", she said as she slipped on the expensive bracelet Jacques had given her.

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