"Commit the perfect murder. Forget burying the corpse, you see."
"I arrived a little late, but you didn't seem to mind. You see, you weren't expecting me as I had been expecting you. And all it had taken was one switch flick of my wrist. One cut, mind you, to severe everything vital and leaves your corpse to stain the scarf I had quickly wrapped around your gaping neck.
"I had planned the whole situation too, even though you weren't my exact intention. At first I didn't blame you at all but the longer I thought about the situation, the quicker I came to realize you were the reason I was in such a mess. You were the pretty thing to walk by my car, so you see; it was entirely your fault. You shouldn't have spent so much time placing that saucy grin on your face with that red paste and fixing your hair so that it teasingly flicked the back of your neck. If you hadn't done this every day, you wouldn't be in this situation. It wasn't meant to be just you at first but you had brought this upon yourself.
"When my hands had reached out to grab you, I met the cold and softness of your skin. I almost felt bad when my fingernails scraped at the delicate part of your wrist but that seemed silly. You were unaware, you see, since the chloroform had sent you lolling into my arms.
"Making sure that the crimson-stained silk stayed around your throat, I belted you into the seat because I can only imagine what the news would say if someone had seen you rolling down the road if I had braked too hard. And my poor windshield, you would have shot right through it, you see.
"When we arrived home, I had snuck quickly into the living room and pulled the curtains over to block the view from the outside. Mrs. Yule's children were bratty little things, you see, they had a problem of peeking in my windows and we hadn't want them to see anything, now did we? I had quickly returned back out into the garage and balanced you on my side as I brought you back into the house. You were very heavy, you see, not as frail a thing as they claimed you to be.
"Carefully, I laid you down on the kitchen table but looking back, being careful with a corpse just seems ridiculous. You still were so pretty, even though it had been a dash and grab affair.
"Despite being pretty, I knew perfection was difficult to preserve and that you would bruise ever more easily in this vulnerable form. "We wouldn't want that now, would we," I had cooed to you. I quickly glanced you over and wondered if you had anything fake in or on you but you see, it really didn't matter all that much. In fact, your personality had always appeared artificial so unnatural body parts wouldn't have been surprising.
"Reaching into my purse, I pulled out the switch-blade I had used to stop that annoying breathing you had been doing. It had been a gift from my husband who bought it for me as protection. Such a contradiction, you see, to use it to harm rather than safeguard. However, when I had used it, it had felt awkward and wasn't sharp enough to complete the job I needed it to do. Therefore, I made sure not to use it for our next step. It would have been pointless to ruin all our hard work, now wouldn't it? With a slow movement of my wrist, I set my switch-blade on a cloth that rested on the counter. Puntilla knife, filleting knife, Bread knife, cleaver – useless! If had wanted to botch the job, I would have just ran you over and ripped you apart, you see.
"But then inspiration had struck me. I ran to the closet and yanked out the junk that has been building up over the years, mostly stuff my husband had gifted me, you see. I moved them around, being very careful not to stir the contents inside unopened packages and boxes before finally; I was able to pull out my Art-Kit, still in the same place I had left it - behind the extra bleach and Tide detergent. I had to hurry back to the place I left you because you will only become stiffer and more difficult to deal with, you see.
"Finally, at the bottom of the Art-Kit, I found the object I had been looking for. It was a scalpel in which the blade winked under the sickly yellow light of the dingy closet. I knew exactly how sharp, how perfect this blade would be for the job since I had sliced open my fingers many a time while cutting sculptures.
"I spun the blade in my hands a few times, admiring its beauty before returning to your side. I remember I was quite irritated at this point, you see, because I dearly wished to sit but had needed to stand at a certain height so I could exert the necessary pressure on the blade to cute threw bone. Bone is much thicker than movies would have you believe, you see. With precise movements only known to a woman who had cooked for her husband for years, I sunk the sharp edge into the skin located at the crown of your head and dragged the blade around the circumference of your head. After one full rotation, I started again; however, that time I forced the blade deeper to penetrate your skull.
"As the blade made its watery descent, the sound that filled the room reminded me of the dull splitting of a watermelon and even smelled as sickeningly delicious. With a twist of my wrist and a little prying with my other hand, the top of your skull fell to the table below and allowed me to gaze into the top of your cerebral cortex. That's the medical term for your brain, you see.
"Smiling, I placed the blade back down and viciously tore your brain from its place of rest. It didn't come out as nicely as I had planned, not whole anyways, more like pieces here and there but I got most of it, you see. Carefully applying pressure, I was pleasantly surprised when a small but wet popping sound reached my ears as each digit sunk into a ten newly formed holes. You see, I had figured it would have just crumbled like Jell-O when you held it, especially since it had torn out so poorly.
"Later, when your sticky tissue lay rotting and crushed on the floor below, I scrubbed my hands clean of its filthiness and began the next stage of our show.
"Slight nervousness clenched at my throat as I had dug my blade into your cheek, for I had half-expected you to rise from your slumber and let a scream tear from your painted lips. Or for your still open eyes to blink but this was silliness, as you know, for my work was far too perfect to allow for error. Although, I had always claimed that you never used your brain in the first place.
"I began carving away at your face, your arms, your chest - everywhere I felt needed to be.. fixed. So now as I stand in the kitchen, preparing supper for the man who was once my husband, you stare at me from eyeless sockets, sitting silently in a corner. It would be a lie to say I regret what I have done to you, for you are guilty in your crimes and had needed to repent for your sins. Even when I had cut your filthy mouth from your face, I felt no remorse. I scraped and tore your soul and dazzlingly mind from you, the things my husband had said he loved."
It was selfish of me, I know, but I refuse to let him go.
"Oh, I almost forgot," I say as I walk over to you, pulling the ring from your left hand, the one my husband had given you when he left me and placed it upon my finger. I now had the ring and my house back. All I have to do now is greet the man, who will become my husband once again when he returns home. Since now I have dealt with the obstacle in my way.
Hearing the front door open, I turned to smile brightly at the man who now stood frozen in the threshold of the door, looking into my kitchen.
Brushing my hair from my face and greeting him, just like the good wife I am, "Welcome home honey," I say sweetly, "What would you like with ribs?"
1The Leader-Post, Regina, Thursday, January 18th, 1962.
Assignment 2 – Family Archive Sasha Richard Sas