A Trail of Roses

“Honey! I’m back!” I shouted out, closing the door with my foot. My arms were getting tired from the groceries, so I place them down in the kitchen. As I began to put the perishables away I saw what looks like red rose petals on the counter. I gathered them up and then I spotted more on the floor. I plucked them up, following the trail into the back of the house. The trail stopped at our bedroom. The door was slightly parted and I smiled slightly to myself, pushing it open. My husband, Paul, is lying on the bed, his head tilted up towards the ceiling, his body splayed across the mattress covered in rose petals and blood. His expression was that of shocked horror. A long slit splayed across his neck, the blood already coagulating in the wound. My smile widened as I walked over to his lifeless corpse and took the originally white roses from his hand and inhaled deeply. I opened my eyes again and stroked Paul’s cold, rigid face and smiled again. Just the way I left him.

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