CW: brief descriptions of dead body, blood, gun use, and knife
Loraine swiped away the sheen of sweat from her wispy white hair as she rose slowly from the freshly turned soil. She groaned with her bones as she straightened; she was getting to be too old for gardening. She hobbled over to a tarp as she glanced around the perimeter of her lawn. Despite the sunny morning, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Thank the Lord she’d gotten Arthur’s lazy ass to build that tall fence. A little extra privacy never hurt.
Safe in the knowledge that her coast was clear, she unwrapped her crop. There, draped in a plasticky shroud, was Janice. The sight of her gnarled, monstrous face made Loraine want to put another bullet in her skull. Her outsides were nearly as ugly as her bitchy, prideful personality had been. She had been so certain that her menagerie of knitted animals would win the yearly competition, and she’d talked everyone’s ear off making sure they knew it. Unfortunately, she had been right. Loraine’s enormous and intricate blanket, though incredible, was no match for foxes and raccoons in tiny sweaters.
So that’s why Janice had to go. That’s why she was lying on her lawn in the glaring summer sun, the rusty streak on her forehead starting to attract flies. Her permanent silence was even more pleasurable knowing that she was Loraine’s least favorite person in the world.
She leaned over and grabbed the corner of the blue sheet before starting to tug the corpse along. Within seconds, she was panting. Christ above, despite being only skin and bones, the woman was heavy. Must have been that giant ego she carried. Still, the familiarity of an old hobby made her heart lighter. Finally making it across the yard, she tipped the body into its final resting place.
With unsteady hands, she hefted up and poured a jug of bleach. The nostalgic smell made her smile softly, reminiscing on days long since passed. She truly missed those piling body counts (both kinds), lustful nights, and evenings of slaughter. But into her life of coppery blood and gunshots came a charming diner counter boy. The promise of growing old with a man who truly loved her was too alluring. Now, she only caught the whiff of cleansing chemicals when scrubbing down toilets or washing wife-beaters that reeked of stale beer.
Halfway through returning the dirt, an idea struck her like lightning from Heaven. Her shovel clattered to the ground before she shuffled to the kitchen. She returned and knelt by the cadaver’s hideous face, running a knife across its transparent skin. The tiny river was collected into a little jar. As she picked up her shovel and finished her work, she couldn’t help her excited tremor. Dying her yarn with this would be the perfect finishing touch for her project. It would make the most gorgeous rose color.
She hoped it would be enough for her victory to be featured in the local paper. It would feel good to be in print once more, even if she wasn’t on the front page. Maybe seeing it would bring the tenderness and adoration back to Arthur’s eyes when he looked at her. That would make all the years of washing, watering, watching, worrying, wailing, wiping, and weeping worth it. She would give anything to experience the feelings again that made her leave her old life behind. Otherwise, she feared what might happen to him if she went another decade unloved.
