Post by Schwimm on Oct 22, 2008 21:16:46 GMT -5
Here for anyone who wants to read!
According to Plan
Let’s see…salmon-check, lipstick-check, purse-where did it go…Yep, got it. Everything a girl needs to get rid of a cheating bastard. Just need to adjust the dress a bit, look sufficiently calm considering the circumstances. Wait, not too calm, you’re on your honeymoon with the ‘guy of your dreams;’ one must look sufficiently glowy and ecstatic, even if your new husband was a lying cheating scumbag not fit to walk the earth anymore. Adjust the face a bit, squirt a bit of perfume and there we go. Off to meet him.
Look at him standing there, all suave and debonair, looking like nothing is wrong. A casual observer would have never guessed that she had caught him trading spit with another woman just hours before. Oh if only she hadn’t gone back to get her purse after she left it at dinner. Then she would still be blind to the truth of her new husband. That player, his hands all over her body, that hussy, couldn’t she see his wedding ring? Maybe she hadn’t noticed, as his hands had seemed awfully busy at that moment in time. She had just turned away from her husband and walked quickly back to their room, trying to hide her tears from the other passengers.
Then the planning had begun. One thing she prided herself on was her planning skills. As a professional caterer, she could plan a 5 course meal for over 100 people without breaking a sweat. It was surprisingly much easier to plan her husband’s demise than to plan a vegetarian meal without using soy. Maybe it was because the lying bastard had such a glaring weakness.
Anyways, onto step two of the plan. Just act natural.
“Darling you look beautiful,” he says, taking her hand and spinning her around to get a good look at his new bride.
Act demure, eyes downcast, coax a blush to her face. “You look handsome yourself,” she replies. The words taste bitter in her mouth. Yes, he does look handsome. His classic black hair and blue eyes highlighted by a perfectly tailored black suit with a blue tie that matched his eyes perfectly. She remembers buying that tie for him, back for their first anniversary. Those were the good times, the happy times, when she had been blind to his womanizing ways. But now, her eyes open to the obvious, she could spot a bit of lipstick clinging to the collar of his jacket. She knows she doesn’t own that shade. How could she have not noticed all the clues?
“Shall we?” Ever the gentleman, he offers her his arm. She takes it to keep up appearances, plastering a silly grin on her face as if there was no where else on earth she would rather be. Her other hand clutches her purse where the murder weapon lay.
They step off towards the party. She can already hear the music. They are fashionably late, so the halls of the cruise ship are deserted. All the other passengers are either safely in their beds or at the party.
Step three “Honey, can we take the long way? Maybe go up on deck for a bit? I want you all to myself for a moment before everyone at the party gets to look at you” she says as she twists her lips into a pout. The perfect blend of compliment and charm, designed to tempt him and manipulate him into following her to his death.
And he takes the bait, hook line and sinker. “Of course sugar, anything for you,” he gushes, altering his route accordingly to take them swiftly to the cool embrace of the night.
She walks to the railing, leaning out precariously over the edge, looking at the ocean lapping at the bow of the enormous cruise ship. Using her body and shawl to hide her movements, she takes the murder weapon out of her purse and places it in her mouth before turning to face him. Just a little bit of salmon, smothered in a delicious smelling peanut sauce, actually quite delicious, but deadly when used the right way. Step four, complete.
He sneaks up behind her, trying to act subtle. When she turns, he acts nonchalant and embraces her, tilting her face towards him. “You didn’t ask to come out here just to look at the ocean, did you?”
She smiles, the murder weapon is ready. “You caught me honey,” she murmurs before closing the gap between their lips. Step five, check, double check actually. No reason she shouldn’t enjoy his goodbye kiss.
The embrace deepens briefly before he suddenly draws back, clutching at his throat and pawing at his pocket, eyes rising to meet hers and filling with horror as the truth sinks in.
“Look at what I found honey!” She holds up step six of her plan. His epipens, which she slipped of so carefully from his jacket pocket, dangle in her grasp. “Remember that fish they served for dinner? The fish you couldn’t have because you are allergic? I just had to try some. I do apologize. Maybe that hussy from before can help you? Was I not good enough for you? What does she have that I don’t have!” Wait, that’s too much emotion. She promised herself during the planning that she would not get riled up. This is just something that has to be done. She would not be made a fool of ever again!
His hand grasps at her dress, but he is easy enough to kick away. His struggles are growing feebler each passing second his brain is starved for oxygen.
Anaphylactic shock is a nasty way to die she supposed. Everything slowly fades to black; the feeling of helplessness overwhelming all senses as the brain screams out for oxygen that cannot fit through a swollen throat. She actually finds this method of murder, using his body’s own misfiring signals to take his life, strangely poetic. Technically she wasn’t even killing him. It was his body’s screwed up signals that did the trick, turning an otherwise benign chemical deadly.
But as satisfying as this might feel, him dying here, at her feet, is not according to plan. She sighs and kneels by her once husband, jabbing the epipen into his thigh. Step seven would guarantee that he would live for a little while longer at least. Well, at least until he hit the water. He is still unconscious you see, unconscious and unable to defend himself. He would fall into the water, helpless to save himself from the relentless waves and ocean rushing into his lungs.
She would raise the alarm and stand back to watch the results of her skillfully crafted plan. No one would suspect the distraught wife of murder, especially one caused by a nasty fall overboard. ‘It was just an accident officer, I swear! I didn’t know it had peanuts in it, I promise!’ She would cry once the lingering peanut taste was discovered, if it was discovered, in the drowned corpse. Or she could deny the peanuts herself, knowing that her husband’s affairs would be discovered. The police were more observant than she after all. They would think it justice; the cheating spouse brought down by the woman he was having an affair with.
Yes, she even had an alibi planned out. ‘Oh officer! I just ran back to get my cell phone from our room when I came back to see him toppling into the ocean!’ Yes, that would do nicely. Steps nine through fifteen of her plan; the alibi and denial, practiced in front of a mirror until sincerity oozed through every pore of her body.
But wait, there’s something wrong!
She looks down at the body of the soon-to-be deceased ex, wondering how she would get him overboard. Her plans didn’t account for the fact that the barely breathing body was almost twice her size. How is she going to get him over the railing? But not all is lost; she had always been a strong girl. Now those hours in aerobics so she could fit into her wedding dress would be put to the test. Step seven should go off without a hitch. Everything was going according to plan.
According to Plan
Let’s see…salmon-check, lipstick-check, purse-where did it go…Yep, got it. Everything a girl needs to get rid of a cheating bastard. Just need to adjust the dress a bit, look sufficiently calm considering the circumstances. Wait, not too calm, you’re on your honeymoon with the ‘guy of your dreams;’ one must look sufficiently glowy and ecstatic, even if your new husband was a lying cheating scumbag not fit to walk the earth anymore. Adjust the face a bit, squirt a bit of perfume and there we go. Off to meet him.
Look at him standing there, all suave and debonair, looking like nothing is wrong. A casual observer would have never guessed that she had caught him trading spit with another woman just hours before. Oh if only she hadn’t gone back to get her purse after she left it at dinner. Then she would still be blind to the truth of her new husband. That player, his hands all over her body, that hussy, couldn’t she see his wedding ring? Maybe she hadn’t noticed, as his hands had seemed awfully busy at that moment in time. She had just turned away from her husband and walked quickly back to their room, trying to hide her tears from the other passengers.
Then the planning had begun. One thing she prided herself on was her planning skills. As a professional caterer, she could plan a 5 course meal for over 100 people without breaking a sweat. It was surprisingly much easier to plan her husband’s demise than to plan a vegetarian meal without using soy. Maybe it was because the lying bastard had such a glaring weakness.
Anyways, onto step two of the plan. Just act natural.
“Darling you look beautiful,” he says, taking her hand and spinning her around to get a good look at his new bride.
Act demure, eyes downcast, coax a blush to her face. “You look handsome yourself,” she replies. The words taste bitter in her mouth. Yes, he does look handsome. His classic black hair and blue eyes highlighted by a perfectly tailored black suit with a blue tie that matched his eyes perfectly. She remembers buying that tie for him, back for their first anniversary. Those were the good times, the happy times, when she had been blind to his womanizing ways. But now, her eyes open to the obvious, she could spot a bit of lipstick clinging to the collar of his jacket. She knows she doesn’t own that shade. How could she have not noticed all the clues?
“Shall we?” Ever the gentleman, he offers her his arm. She takes it to keep up appearances, plastering a silly grin on her face as if there was no where else on earth she would rather be. Her other hand clutches her purse where the murder weapon lay.
They step off towards the party. She can already hear the music. They are fashionably late, so the halls of the cruise ship are deserted. All the other passengers are either safely in their beds or at the party.
Step three “Honey, can we take the long way? Maybe go up on deck for a bit? I want you all to myself for a moment before everyone at the party gets to look at you” she says as she twists her lips into a pout. The perfect blend of compliment and charm, designed to tempt him and manipulate him into following her to his death.
And he takes the bait, hook line and sinker. “Of course sugar, anything for you,” he gushes, altering his route accordingly to take them swiftly to the cool embrace of the night.
She walks to the railing, leaning out precariously over the edge, looking at the ocean lapping at the bow of the enormous cruise ship. Using her body and shawl to hide her movements, she takes the murder weapon out of her purse and places it in her mouth before turning to face him. Just a little bit of salmon, smothered in a delicious smelling peanut sauce, actually quite delicious, but deadly when used the right way. Step four, complete.
He sneaks up behind her, trying to act subtle. When she turns, he acts nonchalant and embraces her, tilting her face towards him. “You didn’t ask to come out here just to look at the ocean, did you?”
She smiles, the murder weapon is ready. “You caught me honey,” she murmurs before closing the gap between their lips. Step five, check, double check actually. No reason she shouldn’t enjoy his goodbye kiss.
The embrace deepens briefly before he suddenly draws back, clutching at his throat and pawing at his pocket, eyes rising to meet hers and filling with horror as the truth sinks in.
“Look at what I found honey!” She holds up step six of her plan. His epipens, which she slipped of so carefully from his jacket pocket, dangle in her grasp. “Remember that fish they served for dinner? The fish you couldn’t have because you are allergic? I just had to try some. I do apologize. Maybe that hussy from before can help you? Was I not good enough for you? What does she have that I don’t have!” Wait, that’s too much emotion. She promised herself during the planning that she would not get riled up. This is just something that has to be done. She would not be made a fool of ever again!
His hand grasps at her dress, but he is easy enough to kick away. His struggles are growing feebler each passing second his brain is starved for oxygen.
Anaphylactic shock is a nasty way to die she supposed. Everything slowly fades to black; the feeling of helplessness overwhelming all senses as the brain screams out for oxygen that cannot fit through a swollen throat. She actually finds this method of murder, using his body’s own misfiring signals to take his life, strangely poetic. Technically she wasn’t even killing him. It was his body’s screwed up signals that did the trick, turning an otherwise benign chemical deadly.
But as satisfying as this might feel, him dying here, at her feet, is not according to plan. She sighs and kneels by her once husband, jabbing the epipen into his thigh. Step seven would guarantee that he would live for a little while longer at least. Well, at least until he hit the water. He is still unconscious you see, unconscious and unable to defend himself. He would fall into the water, helpless to save himself from the relentless waves and ocean rushing into his lungs.
She would raise the alarm and stand back to watch the results of her skillfully crafted plan. No one would suspect the distraught wife of murder, especially one caused by a nasty fall overboard. ‘It was just an accident officer, I swear! I didn’t know it had peanuts in it, I promise!’ She would cry once the lingering peanut taste was discovered, if it was discovered, in the drowned corpse. Or she could deny the peanuts herself, knowing that her husband’s affairs would be discovered. The police were more observant than she after all. They would think it justice; the cheating spouse brought down by the woman he was having an affair with.
Yes, she even had an alibi planned out. ‘Oh officer! I just ran back to get my cell phone from our room when I came back to see him toppling into the ocean!’ Yes, that would do nicely. Steps nine through fifteen of her plan; the alibi and denial, practiced in front of a mirror until sincerity oozed through every pore of her body.
But wait, there’s something wrong!
She looks down at the body of the soon-to-be deceased ex, wondering how she would get him overboard. Her plans didn’t account for the fact that the barely breathing body was almost twice her size. How is she going to get him over the railing? But not all is lost; she had always been a strong girl. Now those hours in aerobics so she could fit into her wedding dress would be put to the test. Step seven should go off without a hitch. Everything was going according to plan.
