A/N: WAH HA HAAA! FINALLY, I UPDATE!! i'm so glad this stupid chapter is
FINALLY OUT OF THE WAY!!! anywho, on with the story.
Now I'm standing in the kitchen carving up a chicken for dinner, MINDING my own business. In storms my husband Wilbur in a jealous rage. 'You been screwin' the milkman' he says--he was cray-zy! But he just kept on screamin, 'You been screwin' the milkman!' ..... And then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times.
I've had a relatively good life. My marriage was nice. Well, at least it was for a while.
I met Wilbur Brown when I was dropping out of high school. We met in a speak easy. You see, he played a bit of clarinet, and was a musician in the pit. I used to go to speak easies all the time, and I'd sit in the same seat, thinking how handsome that clarinet player was.
Ah, jazz. It's a wonderful thing.
So one day--erm, night--I finally had the gall to go up and talk to him. He was on one of his breaks, and I caught his eye as he sat down at a table alone. He looked at me, I motioned for him to come sit.
"You like it here, don't you?" he asked.
"This is my sanctuary," I said with a laugh. "I like coming here just to get away from it all, y'know?"
"Yeah."
"And to have a drink." We both laughed. Geez, he was handsome. I couldn't stop staring at him (I'm sure I looked stupid). "How long have you worked here?"
"Oh, a couple weeks, I guess," he answered, shrugging. "What's your name, kid?"
"June," I answered, inhaling sharply.
"June...?" he asked, prompting me for a last name.
"Just June."
"Ah. Well, in that case, my name's Wilbur." He shook my hand.
"Nice to finally meet you, Wil."
"Bur," he finished for me. "Wilbur. Not Wil." He smiled. Then, suddenly, the band struck up again.
"Hey, they're playing without you," I acknowledged, telling him something that was painfully obvious. I winced at my stupidity.
"Yeah, I know," Wilbur said, smiling again. "I told 'em there was a girl out here I wanted to dance with, and they agreed to play my favorite song for me. The conductor's a good friend of mine."
"Who's the girl?" I asked.
Wilbur stood up. "You, of course. Wanna dance?"
I was so embarrassed, but I stood up anyway and took the hand he had extended towards me. He danced the Charleston pretty well, and it was a little difficult for me to keep up with him. When he stopped briefly for a breath, I did a move I'd seen in another speakeasy once.
"Wow!" he said. "Where'd you learn that?"
"I saw one of the Kelly sisters do it once," I told him. "Veronica, I think."
"You mean the dead one?" he asked, as he twirled with me again.
"Well, she wasn't dead at the time," I said. While we were dancing, I began thinking about that Velma Kelly. Honestly, how could she just go and kill her own sister and husband, just like that? Had she a reason? I couldn't remember .... oh well. I knew that no matter what, I would never do such a thing to anybody.
Who wants to get landed in jail?
Two weeks later
I've been seeing Wilbur regularly now. We know each other pretty well, I'd say. I saw him swimming one day, and let me tell you--that guy is gorgeous!! Really! I don't think I've ever seen abs like that. I was really mortified, though, when he finally got around to noticing me staring at him.
Anyway, he finally popped the question one fateful night. I really couldn't believe it when he asked me to marry him. I was so shocked; me being the kind of girl who never imagines herself being a wife. Of course I agreed, and we actually had a small wedding a week later.
For a long time, we were pretty happy. We were hitting it off really well. Although for a short time, I had feeling he was seeing someone else; this girl down the street named Charlotte Spyd. But I knew Wilbur would never do something like that to me.
It's funny, actually. Our milk man has been walking past our house a lot. Like, more than he should be. Sometimes he's not even in his truck, but he just circles the block, and always stares up at the house. Word is that he gets drunk often, and it's not unusual to find him wandering off somewhere, lost.
Then, one morning, he made a grab for me. Threw his arms around my waist and tried to kiss me. Fortunately for me, he was weak enough to be thrown off. He went rolling backwards down the front steps, and I stood against the house, heaving deep breaths.
"Get outta here!" I said. "Get out!"
He limped quickly to his truck and sped out of sight. I stared back up at the house, praying that Wilbur hadn't seen anything. He was the type who might misconstrue something he didn't see first-hand. That was the one problem with Wilbur.
Then came that day. The day the milk man got around to his booze and started telling lies. He told the club that we had been seeing each other lately. He didn't notice that Wilbur was my husband; let alone notice my presence.
But the way I hear it, Wilbur laid a well-placed punch on the milk man's face, sending him flying backwards into the counter. This subsequently caused a concussion.
Now picture me. Alone at home, minding my own business. And I was making chicken, for heaven's sakes, Wilbur's favorite food. So here I am, thinking of how pleased he'll be, only to see him storm into the kitchen like a raging bull.
"Honey, what's the matter?" I asked. Then I realized that he must've heard about what happened between me and the milk man, and misunderstood it. I swear, his expression made me feel like he was about to whip out a gun and plug me, just like Velma had done to Charlie.
"You've been screwin' the milk man!" he stuttered.
"What?!" I asked in shock, even though this is what I had been expecting. This was insane! Unethical! "You're crazy!"
"I said you've been screwin' the milk man, June!" he shouted. "I won't have my wife walkin' around like a tramp and disgracing me in front of all my friends!"
"I didn't do anything, Wilbur!"
"Then how come he seemed pretty sure about it?!"
"Wilbur, who are you going to believe?! Your wife or the drunken ravings of a stupid milk man?!"
"I don't know what to believe any more June, you slut!" he shouted, looking ready to strike me.
But I cut him to the chase. I picked up a knife and turned around, but he was standing right there and so my knife went right through him. His eyes bulged out, and his mouth dropped. I withdrew the blade slowly, and crimson blood came pouring out. But once wasn't enough for me; he had to pay for what he had called me. I stabbed him again and again, nine more times.
On the bridge of hyperventilating, I heard the knife fall from my hands with a clatter. I looked down and saw Wilbur lying on the ground, dead as a doornail (how dead IS a doornail, anyway?). Then I turned around and continued to carve the chicken.
Wilbur's POV
I was gonna kill her. I was going to KILL her! That slut, thinking she could screw the milkman right behind my back. I wonder if she ever knew I'd find out. Though when I first heard it in the club, I must say that I sure gave that guy one good punch.
It didn't really help that it was raining--in fact it only made me more angry and depressed. I'd done everything for June, and she was just throwing it in my face. My foot pushed harder on the pedal, eager to get home.
I entered the front door and slammed it as hard as I could. This would certainly warn June that I was in a bad mood. I walked defiantly down the hall, and I heard the sounds of her making dinner. Sure enough, I walked into the kitchen and saw her humming and carving a chicken.
Immediately she sensed that something was awry. She asked me what was wrong, as if she didn't know.
So I accused her of, well, screwing the milkman. As I imagined, she looked shocked. I knew she'd pretend to be surprised, hoping I'd fall for her gag and she would get off easy. But there was no way I would let her do that. Then June REALLY toed the line when she called me crazy.
"I said you've been screwin' the milk man, June!" I shouted. "I won't have my wife walkin' around like a tramp and disgracing me in front of all my friends!" Man, she deserved to be yelled at.
"I didn't do anything, Wilbur!" she cried. If I hadn't been so angry, maybe I would've believed her.
But I was determined to make my point. We continued shouting at each other for a while, and then she turned her back to me. Enraged, I stormed towards her. Suddenly, June whipped around with a knife in her hand. I don't think she knew I was standing right there, because the knife plunged into my stomach.
However, this seemed to make her happy. She drew out the knife, then stabbed me over and over again...
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A/N: well, i hope that wasnt 2 horrible. plz review!!
Now I'm standing in the kitchen carving up a chicken for dinner, MINDING my own business. In storms my husband Wilbur in a jealous rage. 'You been screwin' the milkman' he says--he was cray-zy! But he just kept on screamin, 'You been screwin' the milkman!' ..... And then he ran into my knife. He ran into my knife ten times.
I've had a relatively good life. My marriage was nice. Well, at least it was for a while.
I met Wilbur Brown when I was dropping out of high school. We met in a speak easy. You see, he played a bit of clarinet, and was a musician in the pit. I used to go to speak easies all the time, and I'd sit in the same seat, thinking how handsome that clarinet player was.
Ah, jazz. It's a wonderful thing.
So one day--erm, night--I finally had the gall to go up and talk to him. He was on one of his breaks, and I caught his eye as he sat down at a table alone. He looked at me, I motioned for him to come sit.
"You like it here, don't you?" he asked.
"This is my sanctuary," I said with a laugh. "I like coming here just to get away from it all, y'know?"
"Yeah."
"And to have a drink." We both laughed. Geez, he was handsome. I couldn't stop staring at him (I'm sure I looked stupid). "How long have you worked here?"
"Oh, a couple weeks, I guess," he answered, shrugging. "What's your name, kid?"
"June," I answered, inhaling sharply.
"June...?" he asked, prompting me for a last name.
"Just June."
"Ah. Well, in that case, my name's Wilbur." He shook my hand.
"Nice to finally meet you, Wil."
"Bur," he finished for me. "Wilbur. Not Wil." He smiled. Then, suddenly, the band struck up again.
"Hey, they're playing without you," I acknowledged, telling him something that was painfully obvious. I winced at my stupidity.
"Yeah, I know," Wilbur said, smiling again. "I told 'em there was a girl out here I wanted to dance with, and they agreed to play my favorite song for me. The conductor's a good friend of mine."
"Who's the girl?" I asked.
Wilbur stood up. "You, of course. Wanna dance?"
I was so embarrassed, but I stood up anyway and took the hand he had extended towards me. He danced the Charleston pretty well, and it was a little difficult for me to keep up with him. When he stopped briefly for a breath, I did a move I'd seen in another speakeasy once.
"Wow!" he said. "Where'd you learn that?"
"I saw one of the Kelly sisters do it once," I told him. "Veronica, I think."
"You mean the dead one?" he asked, as he twirled with me again.
"Well, she wasn't dead at the time," I said. While we were dancing, I began thinking about that Velma Kelly. Honestly, how could she just go and kill her own sister and husband, just like that? Had she a reason? I couldn't remember .... oh well. I knew that no matter what, I would never do such a thing to anybody.
Who wants to get landed in jail?
Two weeks later
I've been seeing Wilbur regularly now. We know each other pretty well, I'd say. I saw him swimming one day, and let me tell you--that guy is gorgeous!! Really! I don't think I've ever seen abs like that. I was really mortified, though, when he finally got around to noticing me staring at him.
Anyway, he finally popped the question one fateful night. I really couldn't believe it when he asked me to marry him. I was so shocked; me being the kind of girl who never imagines herself being a wife. Of course I agreed, and we actually had a small wedding a week later.
For a long time, we were pretty happy. We were hitting it off really well. Although for a short time, I had feeling he was seeing someone else; this girl down the street named Charlotte Spyd. But I knew Wilbur would never do something like that to me.
It's funny, actually. Our milk man has been walking past our house a lot. Like, more than he should be. Sometimes he's not even in his truck, but he just circles the block, and always stares up at the house. Word is that he gets drunk often, and it's not unusual to find him wandering off somewhere, lost.
Then, one morning, he made a grab for me. Threw his arms around my waist and tried to kiss me. Fortunately for me, he was weak enough to be thrown off. He went rolling backwards down the front steps, and I stood against the house, heaving deep breaths.
"Get outta here!" I said. "Get out!"
He limped quickly to his truck and sped out of sight. I stared back up at the house, praying that Wilbur hadn't seen anything. He was the type who might misconstrue something he didn't see first-hand. That was the one problem with Wilbur.
Then came that day. The day the milk man got around to his booze and started telling lies. He told the club that we had been seeing each other lately. He didn't notice that Wilbur was my husband; let alone notice my presence.
But the way I hear it, Wilbur laid a well-placed punch on the milk man's face, sending him flying backwards into the counter. This subsequently caused a concussion.
Now picture me. Alone at home, minding my own business. And I was making chicken, for heaven's sakes, Wilbur's favorite food. So here I am, thinking of how pleased he'll be, only to see him storm into the kitchen like a raging bull.
"Honey, what's the matter?" I asked. Then I realized that he must've heard about what happened between me and the milk man, and misunderstood it. I swear, his expression made me feel like he was about to whip out a gun and plug me, just like Velma had done to Charlie.
"You've been screwin' the milk man!" he stuttered.
"What?!" I asked in shock, even though this is what I had been expecting. This was insane! Unethical! "You're crazy!"
"I said you've been screwin' the milk man, June!" he shouted. "I won't have my wife walkin' around like a tramp and disgracing me in front of all my friends!"
"I didn't do anything, Wilbur!"
"Then how come he seemed pretty sure about it?!"
"Wilbur, who are you going to believe?! Your wife or the drunken ravings of a stupid milk man?!"
"I don't know what to believe any more June, you slut!" he shouted, looking ready to strike me.
But I cut him to the chase. I picked up a knife and turned around, but he was standing right there and so my knife went right through him. His eyes bulged out, and his mouth dropped. I withdrew the blade slowly, and crimson blood came pouring out. But once wasn't enough for me; he had to pay for what he had called me. I stabbed him again and again, nine more times.
On the bridge of hyperventilating, I heard the knife fall from my hands with a clatter. I looked down and saw Wilbur lying on the ground, dead as a doornail (how dead IS a doornail, anyway?). Then I turned around and continued to carve the chicken.
Wilbur's POV
I was gonna kill her. I was going to KILL her! That slut, thinking she could screw the milkman right behind my back. I wonder if she ever knew I'd find out. Though when I first heard it in the club, I must say that I sure gave that guy one good punch.
It didn't really help that it was raining--in fact it only made me more angry and depressed. I'd done everything for June, and she was just throwing it in my face. My foot pushed harder on the pedal, eager to get home.
I entered the front door and slammed it as hard as I could. This would certainly warn June that I was in a bad mood. I walked defiantly down the hall, and I heard the sounds of her making dinner. Sure enough, I walked into the kitchen and saw her humming and carving a chicken.
Immediately she sensed that something was awry. She asked me what was wrong, as if she didn't know.
So I accused her of, well, screwing the milkman. As I imagined, she looked shocked. I knew she'd pretend to be surprised, hoping I'd fall for her gag and she would get off easy. But there was no way I would let her do that. Then June REALLY toed the line when she called me crazy.
"I said you've been screwin' the milk man, June!" I shouted. "I won't have my wife walkin' around like a tramp and disgracing me in front of all my friends!" Man, she deserved to be yelled at.
"I didn't do anything, Wilbur!" she cried. If I hadn't been so angry, maybe I would've believed her.
But I was determined to make my point. We continued shouting at each other for a while, and then she turned her back to me. Enraged, I stormed towards her. Suddenly, June whipped around with a knife in her hand. I don't think she knew I was standing right there, because the knife plunged into my stomach.
However, this seemed to make her happy. She drew out the knife, then stabbed me over and over again...
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A/N: well, i hope that wasnt 2 horrible. plz review!!