I always wondered if hypocrisy would gather itself inside me, but I always knew I would not possess such quality. Nobody wanted to exist with falseness breathing between their vulnerable lungs.
When I told you about this, your eyes rolled before you insisted that it had been living with me. “You hate deaths, yet it’s the reason you watch the news.”
I did not ponder on what you said because the first instinct that rushed to me was rage. I locked my jaw to refrain from increasing the brewing madness; I kissed your forehead and you laid your head upon my shoulder. We were watching a romance-themed movie; I did not like it, but I adored its concept of love.
Your truth pounded in my head as we went to sleep and I could not contain it. I open my drawer and while you were peacefully asleep, I pointed the gun with a silencer to you before I pulled the trigger. Before the dawn peered, I buried your body in our backyard—where nobody would remember you.
I sipped my whiskey as I stare at your lonesome car being stroked by the winter’s tears. Somehow, I felt my lie broke.
Check out this week’s prompt:
Sunday Photo Fiction
WORD COUNT: 200
Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.