Two Black Cadillacs
The sky clouds over in impenetrable darkness, thunder rolls and it begins to mist. As I grip the steering wheel a little tighter, making stress lines in the leather of my already worn fingerless black gloves, I take a deep breath to compose myself. This is a sad day, the mourning of my husband, or at least it should be. For me, today is a day of reprisal and liberation. He's dead and I couldn't be happier.
I step out of the car and pull the veil of midnight sky over my face preparing to play the grieving wife. Shutting the door behind me, I walk around to the front and run my hand over a small dent that never came out. Giving a bitter smile, I lift my hand and walk to his graveside to join those who have already gathered to hear the eulogy of the once great man that lay in the shiny black casket.
At the head of the casket, standing near a large portrait, is the preacher that married us. Kakashi Hatake. A tall, slender man with silvery hair that stands in a stylized mess on his head and hetero-chromatic eyes. He talks about how we should not cry and mourn but celebrate the life this man had. I'm not crying, but I refuse to celebrate him. I look to my side and see his two siblings crying on each others shoulder. His brother speaking up to vouch that he was a wonderful person and good friend to everyone, his sister clinging desperately to a black silk handkerchief with her husband's hand on her shoulder.
I hear behind me the sound of a car engine shutting off and the slamming of a door then soft footsteps in the dead, late summer grass. I feel myself tense as my back straightens to the form of the pole he found the woman, who steps around to the other side of the coffin, dancing on. She spins an 8 ball key chain around her finger and looks at me through her darkened sunglasses, a small smirk playing on her crimson painted lips. With a curt nod she directs her attention to Kakashi who is now praying for a safe way to heaven for the deceased and twirls a long stem rose the color of blood between her thumb and forefinger.
This woman who stands before me, in her black leather boots with her barbie doll figure wrapped in a black trench coat and fishnet stockings , with her long cherry blossom tresses , and her milk and honey skin is the reason my husband is dead. I don't blame her though. Never could I blame this woman who didn't know any more than I did about what happened. I could ,however, blame her for the plan to kill him that left the dent in my car.
I hope you all liked this story. If you do I appreciate reviews and favorites as well as P.M.s. Constructive Criticism is appreciated, but flames are to be deleted. If this story doesn't take within the next 3 days to a week it might be discontinued or taken down all together.
Thank you for reading.
Disclaim: I do not own Naruto or the lovely song that I base this fic off of.
VCB