Author:Ozluv04
Title: Making A Mess
Disclaimer: Desperate Housewives is not mine. It's ABCs.
Warning: Spoilers through all episodes aired in the U.S. Character death, suicide. It ain't pretty.
A/N: This is quite possibly the most twisted thing I've written. Please heed the warning if the idea of suicide/character death freaks you out. Otherwise read on, sorry it's not very festive.
This place is a little too clean. No dust on the bookcases, no dirty cups on the coffee table. It's as shiny as those faux rooms in glossy magazines. It doesn't look like someone lives here, it certainly doesn't look like someone died here. But they did, there's a nice smattering of blood across the pearly white tiles of the bathroom to prove it.
When they removed the body of Bree Van de Camp, she was as immaculate as her home. At least from the neck down. The citizens of Wisteria Lane whispered about why she did it. They speculated the death of her dear husband was too much, that the death of her insane boyfriend was too humiliating, that her son's problem was too disappointing. They all had their theories, but not one of them was right. Bree Van de Camp put a gun to her head at 12:00 on a Monday afternoon because she was tired of being perfect. Of course she called 911 to report a gunshot—two minutes before any gunshot occurred, and planned it so her children would be in school. She couldn't very well have Andrew or Danielle find her that way. The image of them scrubbing her blood of the floor was all too familiar. Oh, and she wrote a letter. She knew it was a trite gesture, but she couldn't stand the thought of her friends wasting a year of their lives turning over the details of her life searching for a mystery that wasn't there.
She wrote it in typical Bree fashion; putting the blame squarely on herself, instructing the kids on the whereabouts of her will, sending them her love, and she tacked the secret family recipe for Oatmeal cookies on the back. It seemed even her suicide was done with grace and poise. She dressed for the occasion, black sweater with freshly pressed khakis. She removed her pearls thinking Danielle might like to have them. It was all calculated perfectly. The irony wasn't lost on Bree that she was perfecting her escape from perfection. She felt a since of satisfaction that although the act was planned out meticulously, the end result would be a mess. A wonderful, uncontrollable mess.
So she pulled the trigger. The paramedics found her sprawled haphazardly across the floor. Her red hair mixing with her red blood. It was funny, she seemed to be smiling. They shivered slightly, it was disconcerting. Not one of them could ever remember a suicide victim who died with a smile on their face. But Bree did.