Brown was the color of the suits he wore to his law firm everyday. Brown was the color of the coffee he drank almost religiously. Brown was the color of the sweets he got every so often from his daughter. Brown was the color of his wife's eyes, those loving eyes which he thought he would never tire from. Brown was stability.
______________________________________________________________________
But what happens when you get tired of the same things?
You find something new.
And that's exactly what happened.
______________________________________________________________________
Tyrone was getting tired of his life. His day was always so predictable. Leave at seven in the morning, grab a cup of coffee, go to work, deal with petty clients, leave at five, get back home by six, go over some papers, sleep by ten. There was nothing, it was never different. He was tired of it; tired of that one kiss he got a day, tired of the sweets he got once a month, tired of those eyes, which never show any other emotion. Tired of those flashes of brown, which once made, and now plague his life.
Then he saw her.
It was one morning at the usual coffee shop, but the girl behind the counter was new. And she was gorgeous. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. Porcelain skin. Her eyes flashed with laughter as she joked with a customer. Not a smudge of brown. Unpredictably new.
He didn't drink coffee that day. He stared until she caught his eye. He blushed; she smiled, thinking it was nothing. He came up to talk to her, and soon, everyday he talked to her. She always had something different to say, she wasn't predictable. He was a friend to her; she was something more to him. She was all he woke up for; she was the center of his universe. Sarah, his nineteen year old obsession.
Then she got a boyfriend.
______________________________________________________________________
Jealousy is a cruel thing.
When it grabs hold of you, you do things beyond reason.
Especially if you turn into a madman.
______________________________________________________________________
And that was what he was. Mad. He was selfish. She was his. Nothing would rip her away from him.
And blood stained his hands.
A crowbar. A lock pick. An excuse to stay later then the normal from his now suspicious wife and daughter. He had it all. He listened, followed, found. Her and the boy, watching a movie on the couch. Blood running down the boys back. Pleading, crying, screaming. She hated him; he was delusional. She told him. He screamed. If I can't have you, why should someone else? Blood ran down her forehead aswell. Two bodies on the floor.
And he went home; bloody, tired, beyond reason. He considered it successful. His wife considered him a murderer. His daughter; crying in her room. A call.
Police sirens. Lost trial. Behind bars.
His favorite color was red now. The high of the color, the passion, the way it fell on his beloved.
It had it's brilliance.
No comments:
Post a Comment