Til Death Do Us Not

        He woke up to a gray sky. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the new day. A repugnant smell was in  the air, but he did not take notice. He took a moment to remember where he was.

        Home. Bed. Mary.

        And he turned in his bed to face his lover.

        The sight didn’t register in his eyes, his mind, at first. He scooted over to wake her sleeping body with a kiss. His hand moved to caress her cheek, a golden band visible on his ring finger. His head inched towards hers. His free hand brushed the dark brown hair out of her face, and his lips moved towards hers.

        They felt soft at his touch. Full, pink, perky. The color was still in her cheeks; not much time had passed since the night before..

        “Mary,” he whispered, “wake up, my love.” He kissed her one more time.

        She did not wake, and he returned to his position facing the ceiling. He hugged her tight, his eyes fluttered closed, and he drifted into sleep once again.

                                                                *        *        *

        The man awoke; he rubbed his hands over his eyes. The sun was high in the sky, and she laid asleep.

        He sat up in bed, shoving the thick comforter out of his way.

        “Mary,” he called. But silence filled the stale air. He ambled towards his window and knocked the curtains aside. Bright, warm sunlight filled the room.

        He turned to call for his wife once more, “Mary, wake up, darl-”

        He stopped mid-sentence, horrified at the scene in front of him.

        A pool of crimson liquid lay at the foot of the bed. Splotches of the bright color were splattered on the white walls.

        A whopping ruby stain was sunken on the used-to-be-immaculate white sheet over Mary’s sleeping body..

        What had happened? The man raced towards his dead lover, eyes full of shock.

        “Mary! Wake up, Mary! I know you’re awake!” he shook her desperately.

        “Oh..” he cried as he looked over the pool of blood on the sheet again, “oh.. Mary..” He rubbed two fingers over the sheet, wanting to ensure that it was truly blood. He took her by the shoulders and sobbed into her neck.  

        Throughout the day he waited patiently for his lover to awake her deep slumber. He couldn’t come to terms with her death. He could not accept the fact that he would never again kiss her pink lips, that he would never again caress her warm face or hold her warm body in his arms.