A/N: I do not own "Gloomy Sunday" as done by Billie Holiday.
He thinks of her on Sunday. Every Sunday he prays for her. On slow days when he doesn't do much, he thinks of how that dance would have went if he'd just gotten the chance to have it. He hasn't slept in days because he's terrified. Scared to dream of her.
He found out a week ago. The retirement center had called and told him she'd passed away. He was dumbstruck. Peggy was the strongest woman he'd ever known and now she was gone. He didn't want to believe it- yet he had to.
He had locked himself away and cried. He'd looked at the picture of her he'd kept by his bed and held onto it like a life preserver. It was the only thing that kept him tethered to reality. Her voice echoing in the vast darkness. It punched nails through his heart.
He looked at the knives. A simple slit of the wrist and he was dead. He looked at the gun. It was too unreliable. He looked at the water, and found poetic justice. Drowning was perfect.
He writes a last letter to each of them and leaves them on the bathroom counter and plays their song on the radio.
He sticks his head under the water and begins to count the seconds until he dies. Slowly, he drifts to unconsciousness. He moves closer and closer to the light and at last is reunited with his one true love.
They find him an hour later after he was late to dinner. They all cried as "Gloomy Sunday" Played on on the radio.
