There’s Something About Mary

03/02/2011 § Leave a comment

I don’t know what it is about snow.  There’s just something soothing about seeing the white flakes fall from the sky.  It’s even better when you’re setting near the warm fire, looking out into the night, your girl by your side.  There’s just something about it.  Something about Mary.

Me and Mary have it good.  She always sets by me on these cold winter nights, curled up, my head on her chest.  But not tonight.

Why not, I ask, puzzled, wondering.  I don’t feel like it, says she.  I’m hurt now.  Never used to be like this.  Never used to be like this.

I wonder how we fell away.  I was always the good guy.  Did what she wanted, got her what she wanted, lived for what she wanted.  Should be happy, I say, but not aloud.  To myself, actually.  She mustn’t hear.  She must never hear.

I’ve been feeling this way for a while now.  Don’t know why.  Never know why.  Just can’t figure it out.  Mary’s still the angelic being she’s always been.  Just seems different now.  Something’s different.

Two weeks ago, we were making love, like never before.  It had been a long time since before.  She was so warm, so wonderful, so strong.  She always has been.  I miss that about her.  She’s so distant, so cold.  It would be warmer to be outside tonight. Ha ha.

Anyway, we were making love, then she said something funny.  She said oh John.  Don’t know who she was talking to.  Certainly wasn’t me.  Never said it again.

Deep down, the twisted knot in my stomach tells me she’s been unfaithful.  I don’t want to believe it though.  She’s too perfect to do that.  She’s an angel.  She’s my angel.

Come sit with me, I say.  Can’t, she says.  I grow frustrated.  Who’s John, I ask.  What are you talking about, she says.  Don’t play dumb, I say.  I don’t know what you’re talking about, she says.  You never do, I think.

Except I can’t.  I can’t think anymore.  I see red.  Nothing but red, now black.  It switches back and forth between the two colors.  I don’t know what’s going on.  I can’t see, hear, smell, feel.

Mary’s dead.  Her angel body surrounded by blood, putrid and choking and thick and swollen and black and white and dead.  And dead.  She’s dead. What will I do.

I’ll find her killer, and kill him, bring him to justice.  Make him meet Satan for killing my beautiful angel Mary.  The bastard.

The cop places handcuffs on me.  I don’t know why.  I would never do anything to hurt Mary, I love her, more than anything.  I’ve got to find the bastard who killed her I say to the cops.  He nods politely, smiling that cruel condescending smile.  I hate him.

There was always something about Mary.

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