She

The Oblong Box. A tale of a man driven by love and fear into insanity. 

“Will the defendant please rise.” The courtroom grew silent. “Neil Krindle is guilty for second-degree murder of his wife, Veronica Krindle, and will be charged with 20 years to prison due to the grisly nature of his crime.”

It wasn’t supposed to end this way. It was her fault. Don’t you understand? She taunted me. Her beauty and her poise was enough to make any man fall to his knees and she knew that. She knew she was better than me, smarter than me, prettier than me, she was a cold hard bitch. 

It all started in December, the harsh chill outside was no match to her ice-cold stares. I was making breakfast. You should have seen how amazing I was at making breakfast. The pancakes rounded perfectly, sizzling bacon would waltz across the tongue of anyone who dared to taste it. She walked in, my wife. My beautiful, beautiful wife. 

“Good morning, Neil,” She said to me. She always said that. What did she mean? You are stupid Neil, how dare she speak of me that way, I hate you, Neil. 

“Good morning, Veronica,” I answered back. She took some of my pancakes and a strip of bacon and she sat down. She started to eat a small bite of my pancake. I sat down next to her, inching my hand closer to hers. She shifts away from me. I love her, she is beautiful, but she hates me. With every fiber in her bone, she must hate me. I take a bite of my pancake, perfectly cut. She is a slob. Holding her thick-cut pancake slice like an animal. After eating she sets her plate in the sink, I follow. 

Is it wrong to want the ones you love dead? Am I insane to want her dead? No, I am not. In fact, I am on higher ground than the rest of civilization. I know exactly what I need and who needs to die. That is the tough part, I knew that I had to do it. I had to be the one. Veronica needed to die. 

It was late that night, we decided to watch a movie. The Shining. The tale of a man driven to madness. She shifted closer to me. I move away, I cannot sit near such a beauty. Such a terrible, terrible beauty.  

I laid awake that night, my mind wandered as I stared at the ceiling. Her breath was beating down my face. She was a heavy sleeper. I turned to look at her face. I could barely look at her. I looked back up at the ceiling. I glanced at her. I looked back up. A sleeping Veronica. Behold a beautifully bitter sight, the type of sight you can’t look at for too long. I look at her shut eyes, her rested cheeks. I closed my eyes for a moment, plugged my ears, and imagined she was gone. I imagined the cold comfort of her inevitable death. I am doing nothing wrong, for it is unhealthy for a husband to want their wife around. It must be unhealthy to allow such beauty to walk the earth. I opened my eyes once more, but I didn’t look at her. Not even a small peek. She didn’t get any of my stares. 

When I awoke she was gone. The shower was running. She had left her clothes folded neatly on the bed, as if her clothes deserve more of the bed than I do. She stepped out of the shower, took her clothes, and began to change. She was absolutely radiant. As I looked at her, I knew. That night, that night would be the time she died. 

I prepared dinner, her favorite meal. Steak, mashed potatoes, a light salad, and some red wine. I put on my best suit, and I still looked horrid. Horrid, yet godlike in the best fashion. She entered the kitchen. Her dress, oh her dress. Every seam perfectly closed, not a wrinkle in sight, it clung tightly to her body, bright red shimmer radiating from her dress. She sat down at the table, I served her food. We ate, talked, laughed even. And then she gave me a look. A look of confidence. She thought she was better than me, she thought that she deserved life more than I did. It was time, it was time. 

My heart raced, she knew nothing. I had all the power. She was about to die and she knew nothing. I let out a small chuckle. A chuckle of pure enjoyment for I was in control. I had complete control over her and she had no idea. It was time, it was time. 

I quickly grabbed the meat cleaver from the kitchen and swung at her head. She screamed, but I continued. She was dead, extremely dead. I made sure of it. Now it was time to clean. I went to work by using my slim knowledge from true crime podcasts and cop shows. I dismembered her body and separated it into small bags. I then dispersed the bags in several locations in my house. I kept the dress. I knew it was evidence against me but If I could just create a story I could keep the dress. Something to remind me of this night. 

I was rolling high and then I crashed. I layed in bed. She was actually gone. It was her time to die, but why must she be gone. I called the cops “911, what’s your emergency?” 

“She’s gone,” I responded.

“Who’s gone?” The operator inquired, she’s onto me. I hung up. I waited for about 30 minutes, I sat on the bed, holding the dress close to my body. I looked up at the ceiling, then I glanced to my side. She wasn’t there. I loved it. I was finally enjoying myself and then it happened. Bang. “Open up.” They yell. BANG. Louder. “Open up Mr. Krindle.” I slumped my way to the door. I held the door handle for a second. And then I opened up. There I saw three cops standing outside my door, I knew they hadn’t seen inside yet because they looked at me with pity. And then, it hit them. The cops plugged their nose as if I was the most foul stench they had ever encountered. Their eyes bulged at the scene of my artwork. Victoria’s final symphony, lines and patterns on the floor, on the wall, and she gets the credit. I reached my hand out to wave them over to the bedroom. Two of the cops headed into the bedroom while the other took my hands, cuffed them, and started to walk me back to their car. I could hear the two in the other room make a call. Stating my address and asking for a forensic analyst team to come to my residence. To see Victoria. As I sat in the squad car, I thought about my future actions. Many cowardly men would claim innocence, self defense, an intruder. I was no such man. 

We entered the courthouse. “Robert Krindle, how do you plea?” the judge asked. I pause for a moment. Everyone's eyes are finally on me. They all care about me. I opened my mouth, and took a deep breath. 

“Guilty,” I say with my loud, booming voice. And before the judge can speak I say one last thing. “There are two important moments in someone's life: the time they get attention and the time they die. I simply killed two birds with one stone.” I give a small side smile. 

“Excuse me?” The judge asks. 

“Victoria needed to die, and I needed attention. Problem solved.” I look at the judge and gesture around the room. “Look at all the eyes on me.” The judge goes to speak. He asks me to rise. My time, not Victoria’s.