As I sit, watching my dearest wife make our breakfast, I recall as to how we met. I am blessed with a fine house full of fine things and think of myself as a fine gentleman. There is a catch, however; I am cursed with a horribly blue beard. It is quite embarrassing to see people offended by my atrocity that I can not help. I was a lonely man, until I met my dear wife. She was a real treasure, one who learned to love me, saw me as I really am. Or at least what I allow myself to show. I suppose in some degree I deserved to be lonely. Ever since the “incident”, as I like to call it, there has always been some suspicion surrounding me that does not concern my odd colored beard. The only ones that know the truth about my little secret shall not and cannot tell of what they’ve seen. It was my first wife that started it all. That wench deserved what she got- marrying me only for the fine things she would surely inherit. She was gravely mistaken. I chuckle darkly and my sweet, innocent wife asks me what I find humorous. I explain lightly that I was just recalling an amusing anecdote that I would tell her later, when she wasn’t so busy. This one is different. My lovely wife would never disobey me and enter that room. Never!

It is afternoon and I must go out to run some errands that need attending. I give my beloved my set of keys so she will be able to locate everything. I strongly forbid her to go into the room where the ugly truth of my past lies. I do not tell her that part, of course, only that she mustn’t enter. She promises to not enter and I lovingly kiss her cheek. Hopefully, she will not fall into the trap of curiosity just like all the others…

It is night and I have finally returned home. I find my wife waiting for me, her color pale and her hand slightly trembling as she hands me the set of keys. With a pang of dismay I quickly figure out what must have happened. Anger courses through me, and I quietly hiss at her to retrieve the missing key. Still trembling she goes to retrieve it. Upon returning, she slowly hands me the key. It is stained with blood, just like my conscience, which I’m afraid, must be stained a bit darker. I calmly tell her that she has to die now and join the mangled, bloody bodies of my other wives, whose stupidity led them to discover the truth as well. My traitor of a wife begs to have a little while to pray. Being merciful, I decide to grant her request and give her fifteen minutes.

As she prays in her room, I am conflicted with the pain in my heart. I quickly tell myself that the woman I married is no more. She died as soon as she opened the door, which led to the hideous truth. I am only disposing of the body of my wife, nothing more. As soon as I realize this, I go to retrieve my cutlass. That woman has had plenty of time to make her peace with God and I bellow for her to come down. After what seems like a millennium and with my voice slightly hoarse from yelling, the girl finally comes to me. I roughly grab her by the hair and raise the cutlass, meaning to cut off her head. Suddenly, the door opens with a bang and the woman’s two brothers enter the roof, each holding a knife. With a horrible realization, I see it is I who should have made my peace with God. I attempt to run, but the men trap me and quickly run me through with their swords. I fall to the ground, lying on my side. I am dying. As I lie bleeding, my life force draining from me, images pass before my vision. The images cease as quickly as they came and the last thing I see is a woman. My wife… my beloved…