Death Do Us Part
~AlongCameASpider
I, James,
He stared at her as she gazed angrily at the ceiling. What was her problem anyway? He had visited her frequently enough. And now that she was at home he spent every moment with her. James tried to be sweet, to show her that he still thought of her. How many times hadn't he brought her flowers? "I don't want your damn flowers!" she would say. 'Fine then,' he would think, 'I won't fucking bring anymore.'
Take you Mary,
She was ugly now, anyway. Her skin was an odd color; it looked as if she had died months ago and had been left to rot. There were strange bumps and open sores that oozed a disgusting green puss. Her hair falling out only added to it. He didn't want to look at her anymore. The sight made him want to vomit. His stomach churned, a combination of disgust and guilt. He shouldn't think so poorly of his once beautiful wife. It wasn't her fault, it was the stupid illness. The horrible illness she mysteriously contracted and no one knew how to treat.
To have and to hold from this day forward,
Suddenly she burst into tears, making James jump. He should have expected it. Her mood was always changed so quickly. Angry one minute, crying the next, then happy as can be. Like nothing had happened. "Oh, James!" she wailed, "I'm s-sorry!" "It's not your fault." he muttered as he looked down at the floor.
For better or for worse,
It was dirty. Dust and soil had accumulated in the cracks. The wood was stained from years of wear and tear. There were deep grooves carved into it from moving furniture across it. He could still see a bit of dried blood from when he cut his hand on a broken picture frame. The rugs were old, they probably belonged to her great-grandmother. They were faded, dirty, and uninteresting. The floor was just as ugly as Mary.
For richer, for poorer,
He really needed to stop that. But James hated her, though it hurt to admit it. She was ruining his life. Now that she was at home, she demanded all of his attention. She never wanted him to leave her side. So he'd sit there, and she'd yell at him, then she'd cry, then she'd complain. He understood why, her time was almost to an end. But he'd had enough. He had enough of constantly caring for her, constantly getting yelled at for nothing, constantly not being able to enjoy his own life. He missed the way life had been before he married her. When he didn't have to worry about keeping everything super clean, he could just do what he wanted, and he didn't have to always check in on his dying wife.
To love and to cherish,
He had to fix it. The suffering was too much. His and hers. It was clear she was in pain, you could tell from the look on her face. She couldn't eat anymore, couldn't keep it down. All she could do was lay in bed and cry and talk about some annoying girl from the hospital. Mostly she just cried. And he couldn't take it. Her life was fading away, and taking his with it. He was drained. Which is why he drank a great deal more than normal nowadays. He had to fix it. James stood up and leaned over his wife, kissing her gently on the forehead. "Goodbye, Mary." he whispered.
In sickness and in health,
James pulled the pillow from under her head and held it, with all his strength, over her face. She struggled, of course, kicking her legs more wildly than he had expected. For a moment, he was sure he would not be successful. What would he tell her? How was he going to explain what he had tried to do? 'I'm sorry I grabbed a pillow and tried to suffocate you, dear. I was only trying to help.' he thought sarcastically as she pulled at the sleeves of his jacket. Her nails were sharp and he could feel them leaving cuts down his forearms. Her struggling began to weaken, he pushed down harder. She stopped moving.
Until death do us part.