You want know why I do it? This-this job of mine? You want know? Cause I will tell you, but only if you really want to know. Okay then, I'm going to tell you. I don't think you'll stop hating me, stop my impending death sentence. But I know you'll throw me a pitied glance, and maybe you will show a little understanding. But that's not why I doing this. I am doing it because I'm bored.

I had a girlfriend once. I mean, I've had a few, but this one was special. She listened, she actually looked at ME, even cooked. Good food to, boy do I miss her roast beef. She could turn a PB&J sandwich into the most wonderful thing your taste buds have EVER experienced. Just thinking about the smells that used to be in that kitchen, the smells, and it's enough to make my mouth water. I can imagine now what the kitchen probably smells like, mold, crust, grim; not your grilled cheese sandwiches. The ones you sometimes burned to the point of them ruining the pan, melding the two of them together. You'd always yell at me to get you another, just so you could do the something again to tomorrow. The sandwiches were still delicious though. Even better with a side of grape juice, your favorite flavor. I'd by you pans every day, just for the perfect breakfasts only you could make.

You know what I have for breakfast now days? Hn… actually; I really don't even know what it is, I swallow it so fast I can't taste it. Which is the point, I'm sure if I let it sit on my tongue for more than 4 seconds I'd barf it back out just as quickly. And I wouldn't want that, it would just be sitting on the floor here. I don't want to go near the toilet, I'm sure there's already vomit in there from other people.

I miss our bathroom at home, the white tile, walls, everything in that room was white. Except the toothpaste, I think it was peppermint. Yes, you loved that flavor. I can remember that now, how you used to eat whole boxes of candy canes for Christmas. Actually, you ate them every holiday, even the ones you would sometimes make up because the pasty imitation sometimes couldn't satisfy you. And the toothbrushes, mine standing out as a deep ocean blue, yours as an even deeper violet purple. You liked purple a lot. Wasn't that the color of our sheets? Our towels? You had a purple shirt that you washed almost daily just so you could wear the shirt all the time. I told you the color would fade faster that way and the material would stretch.

You didn't listen, and when the shirt started ripping, you threw on a black tank top under it to make the holes look like they were supposed to be there. Plus you said "it brings out the purple even more now, doesn't it?". You smiled at me then, and all I could do was nod dumbly in return.

I'm a guy, what was I supposed to know about fashion? But it made her happy, and she held on to that shirt until the end. I'm pretty sure it's still in our dresser, in the bottom drawer in the far corner under more clothing. You put it there because you had a fear of me throwing it away. Purple-shirt-in-trash-can-phobia, that's what you called it.

I laughed out loud, but I don't know why you would think that, I would never deny you of something that would make you so happy. I did ask for a reason though, the shirt was in a beyond reparable condition now. You just said it was the prettiest shade of purple you had ever seen, and though the shirt now lacked its original color, you said you could always imagine it perfectly whenever you looked at that shirt. When I suggested you to look for a new shirt, a different color purple, you merely repeated that no shirt could EVER compete.

So I left it, smiling to myself when we would go to Lowes or Home Depot for some meaningless reason, and I would see you looking in their paint section. We would leave with you mumbling about ugly purples and ok purples. That's when I thought of a nickname for you, like a pet name. Longer than just the single J you have for me. It just hit me out nowhere, but when I told you about it later, you were the one who hit me, hugging and tackling and smothering me into the ground. You loved it, I could tell by the death grip you were strangling me in.

Violet.

Simple, sweet, and to the point.

Honestly though, I really, really liked you in green. It was the color of your eyes, a rich emerald green. Like from that Wizard of Oz movie. Her eyes had the entire emerald city in them. The endless pools I never got tired at looking into. Her dirty blonde hair, a few brown streaks running around here and there. It helped bring out your eyes even more, but with all the purple she wore balanced it, made it beautiful. Violet was beautiful then, physical, mentally, emotionally. Now I can see her where her parents left her, rotting in the ground, cold and alone, wear the ugly black outfit they dressed her in. Those idiots didn't even know her, their own daughter.

I knew her. I loved her. I wanted to marry her, have little troubling midgets with her, and make her happy. That's all I ever wanted. I guess our relationship was funny like that, when she was happy, I was happy.

So naturally, when she died, physical, I tried to follow, taking a knife to my wrists. But they caught me. Random strangers who said they cared for me and what was left of my pathetic life. But they didn't understand, my life was now buried six feet under. She was 29, I think. We didn't like keeping track of birthdays, saying it was just a number that just kept getting larger. As if it was counting of the days we had to go. 'Oh, wow honey! You're at 50! About half way there now, and I'm even a year ahead of you! Beat you there!', but really, who would want to win that race?

When Violet first told me this, she joked about it, saying " Hey J, you know what comes up, but never goes down? Your age! Let's keep ours a secret, ok? That way, it stays right in the middle! We'll beat the system J, then the both of us will live forever!". 29, she died in a head on collision. You know what happened to the other guy? He got a DUI, license suspended, some broken bones and ugly bruising. But no, my Vi can't be that lucky now can she?

She gets a ceremony, some people 'close' to her show up and shed a few tears. I didn't go. I couldn't go. It was closed coffin, they didn't even want to show her face. It would have been too gross and disturbing, that's what the parents said. I didn't know if it would have been better or worse that why. Did I want to remember her smiling, laughing face? Or did I want to see her then, peaceful face disturbed, and ugly.

Wait- no, my Violet couldn't be ugly. Never, she was always beautiful, gorgeous, supermodel worthy. No scratches, no marking could ever deteriorate that beauty. I certainly didn't want her to rot under the ground though, morphing her with the wooden underside of the coffin. No, you know what I wanted to do? I wanted to cremate her.

She wanted that too, by a will didn't exist under her name. So her 'family' took care of her and her things. They nearly took everything from me too. Her items, her memories, even her smell. We had a picture of us, me with my arms wrapped tightly around her to keep her from the cold. I was smiling, and she was too. That's the only thing they left me with. That picture faded in little time though, leaving me with the memories I had.

I don't know what I did wrong, I'm constantly wondering though. We should have beaten the system, lived forever! We were supposed to be together, die together, buried together. Cremated then mixed together, so that in a way, I could still keep my arms wrapped around her tiny frame. Then they'd put us in a garden filled with violet purple flowers, with emerald city green stems and soil as brown as the streaks that stood out in her hair.

You know? All these flash backs are giving me the funny feeling that I could have handled the after part of that life a little better. I mean, some people grief at the loss of a loved one, some find someone else to replace the one they've lost. But me? Oh no, I'm special. I found a gun, and at a pretty cheap price to, even got a round that I could blow off. For a while there, I thought about turning it in my direction, but I thought better of it. We could never be together again, in this life or the next, so I thought I might as well have some fun with the rest of mine. The guy who sold me the lethal weapon asked me for his money. Remember I said I got the gun at a cheap price? Would you believe free? Screw evidence, I could almost feel the rush of excitement through my veins. I love you, Violet, and I hope you smile down at me from heaven.