"Hurry, hurry," I mutter to myself as I glance at the clock. "He'll be home soon, Meiko, hurry!"

I survey my hard work with satisfaction. I twist and turn in the mirror, making sure everything is set, and I hear footsteps coming down the hall.

I walk to the living room floor, and deliberate.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Just as I hear the click, just as the knob turns, just as the door is pulled open, I think, it's time.

With a thump of my own, my body falls to the wooden floor in one big, limp, bloody mess.


I open the door, and glance at my watch to make sure I'm on time.

"Meiko, I'm home!"

I lift my gaze upward, and then I see it. On the floor of the living room, on the rosewood, lies my wife. There is a kitchen knife plunged deep inside her spine bone. Her already red jacket is splattered with dark red liquid. I do not say a word.

I cross around to see her face, her head turned sideways to reveal closed eyes, and a closed mouth with blood dripping down. There is more blood underneath her stomach, which the kitchen knife must have cut open. Her hand is dyed in red.

A rush of breath leaves my mouth. My wife's lifeless body twitches in response.

"Oh, Meiko," I sigh.

"How are we going to clean this up?"


"Fufufu!" A small cry of laughter escapes my wife as she gives up.

"And what is this, curry sauce?" I ask, stirring a finger in her "blood".

"Wrong! It's tomato sauce! Curry sauce isn't even red!" she cries out, her voice muffled from her facedown position.

"All right silly, now help me clean up."

"Okay okay," she says, sitting up. "Where did you put the cleaning things from yesterday?"

"In the closet down the hall," I reply as she licks her hand.

"Mmm…" she sighs as she wipes her fingers on her jacket. "Did you like today's performance?" she calls back as she ambles down the hallway.

"Not very creative, you know. Yesterday's was better."

"Arrows through the head are very old-fashioned. I was going for something more classic."

"A knife through the back?" I snort. "That's classy."

"Classic and classy are two very different things," My wife informs me loftily.

"I'm sure they are."


By the time I get home from work, my wife always pretends to be dead. I'm not sure why, but I don't mind. She always helps me clean up afterward, and I shower her with compliments. Afterwards, she cooks dinner, and sometimes, with an arrow through her head as she stirs the soup, I can't resist taking a picture.

I remember when we first met, before I became famous, I was always ruining the mood because I couldn't pay for dates. We had our first kiss in the pouring rain, and I vowed to make myself to work harder to make her happy. She was the only good thing in my life. But now, work brings me home later and later, and I can only manage to make it home before dinner.

Maybe she does it to bring back memories of when we first met, that carefree playfulness and jokes we played on each other. I'm not sure. But the fact that she's there for me every day after I get home from work, waiting for me, is more than enough. If that's the way she'll show her love, that's fine with me.


Why do I pretend to be dead when he gets home? It's fun. I get bored at home. It's the only way to get rid of all that tomato sauce. It makes him laugh.

Those are the reasons I throw out when my friends ask why, and they're the truth.

I remember after we got married, when Kaito became famous. I was (and still am) so happy for him. He seems so happy nowadays, and I'm glad. But, I wonder as we scrub the floor, is it wrong for me to ask for him to think only of me? I throw a sidelong glance at him, watching the way his hair falls over his eyes as he diligently works at a particularly stubborn splotch of tomato sauce. And then I realize that I'm happy now, with just the way things are. Of course he thinks of me. I'm his wife. And I'm not just any wife. I'm the wife who, by the time he gets home, always pretends to be dead.


SONG: By The Time He Gets Home I Always Pretend To Be Dead (Hobohi-P, Azaa-P)

ORIGINAL ARTIST: Hatsune Miku

VERS: Meiko & Kaito (Duet)