The dark red Ketchup was identical to the splat of blood at the foot of the booth. It sat stale and forgotten next to the scrambled eggs and half-eaten sausage. A single mug of coffee had been positioned next to the fork that held a harmless fly searching for his next meal. Although the dish the tiny irritating insect had found was forgotten, it had not been unattended. A hand, as pale and cold as the cream that had scattered itself upon the floor, rested uneasily upon the empty portion of the table. It belonged to a woman in a tight yellow dress with once vibrant eyes as blue as the sea.
A tall, sickly-looking man in a dark suit was staring at the now dull, broken woman. He sat quietly, polishing the spoon that had fallen to the floor and landed in the growing pool of blood and cream. Not the blood of the woman across from him but the woman who had been pouring the coffee and delivering the food to the overly chatty customers spread throughout the small, retro-looking dinner. A jukebox brightly lit, played Johnny Cash’s You are my Sunshine in the corner. A favourite, not only of the returning patrons but of the skeletal man and his darling guest.
As he pulled the spoon away from the cloth, it shone under the neon-coloured lights that sat in the large window to his left. With more grace than the average man, he dipped the spoon into his mug, startling the fly which had been rubbing its legs in excitement over the discoloured eggs. With a single wave, the man sent the tiny insect flying over to the following table where a family had been celebrating a birthday. Their hands were locked together in prayers and sealed with the blood of their loved ones.
The ice cream cake that had once sat between them had melted and dripped down the slightly slanted table and created a small creek that ran towards a booth in the opposing corner. That booth had been occupied by a young girl and her suitor who had spent the night holding each other. The love from their bleeding hearts was overflowing as it joined the ice cream forming a small puddle before continuing its path to the kitchen drain. Its trail was unbroken as it passed by the cooks that laid their sweat and blood on the grills in front of them. Once barking out orders and passing out burnt food now sat silently as the grills let off a dark and putrid-smelling smoke from the chiefs’ skin as it blistered and burned away from the flesh and bones.
With a deep sigh, the scrawny man could not help but think how it all could have been avoided if the woman had left him alone. Her light brown hair and sweet smell had been intoxicating. After his first taste, he became addicted. She had been a part of his daily coffee for years. His sweet Kahlua. He had met her at such a young age and begged for more until it had cost him. He had lost his family and his life to his first love. He had the strength once to leave her for several years, but now he could not resist her sweet temptations after being beaten down yet again by life.
Now she sat there with a single wound upon her brow and a ring on her finger. He had proven himself to her. Cutting out the hearts of his loved ones, destroying his reputation, and burning every bridge he had ever built. At this moment, he sat in the quiet dinner, surrounded in the wake of his destruction.
Taking in the last of the lightened coffee, the lanky man repositioned himself on the woman’s side of the booth.
“You make me happy when skies are grey.” he sang softly with the jukebox as he laid his forehead upon hers
“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you,” after kissing her forehead, the man retrieved a small gun from his pocket and placed it upon her chest. Her smile remained unaltered as the tears ran down her face feeling the ending moments away. She closed her eyes and took one last deep breath as he pulled the gun away from her chest and squeezed the trigger. A loud bang rang throughout the dinner. Silencing the jukebox forever. The haggard man rose and made his way to the door, resting his palm on the knob for a moment as he looked back at what was once his life.
“But you took my sunshine away,” He sang, and with that, the scrawny man walked out the bright red doors leaving behind the pain and regrets with only a trail of fading bloody footsteps.
Kommentare