• He arrived at her doorstep around 1:00 in the afternoon. He knew by then she would at least have showered. Now, whether she had changed out of her pajamas was a different story. He held a bouquet of red, pink, and white roses in his left hand and knocked on her door with the right. They’d been together for over two years now, but he would never let himself in (even for as often as she insisted that he did).

    When she opened the door, she greeted him with the same bright smile that he had fallen in love with in the first place. Her hair was still just a little damp from her shower, but she already had her makeup on, just in case something like this should happen. She blushed as he presented the flowers, and she thanked him with a kiss.

    “Come in and I’ll get dressed,” she told him, stepping to the side, allowing him entrance to her small home. He shut the door behind himself and watched as she scurried into the kitchen to place the flowers in a vase. After she clipped the stems, filled the vase with water, and gently stuck the flowers in, she placed it on the table, smelled the roses, and smiled again.

    He watched her slink into her bedroom and shut the door. He sank down into the couch, adjusting some of the items in his pockets. She walked out in white heels and a yellow dress with white polka dots on it. He looked her over and smiled, holding out his hand.

    “Come on,” he said simply as he lead her out of the door. The couple spent the day together, walking around the small city they lived in. In the late evening, they found themselves at the Pier. She was carrying her shoes in her right hand, holding his with her left. His fingers linked through hers, his left hand in his pants pocket. The pier had emptied out, tourists were leaving to go to dinner, employees were shutting down shops, and locals were home with their families.

    They stopped at the end of the Pier. She stood to face him and smiled again as the wind blew, carrying her brown curls along with it. She was beautiful. He took his fist out of his pocket and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer. She could feel his heart beating as she rested her cheek against his chest with a content sigh.

    “I’m sorry baby,” he whispered. Before she had a chance to look up at him, he switched open his knife and jabbed it into her side, then again into her stomach. As her body fell limp to the boards of the Pier, he watched her, as if she were moving in slow motion. His remorseful eyes were cast downward; his guilty hands fell to his sides, still clutching the weapon. With a turn on his heels in the opposite direction, he walked away.