I wake up. It is morning, I lay still for about 2 to 3 hours. Looking about me I realise I am in the same old place. Cranberry Manor. Roger, the butler arrives with my breakfast on a silver tray. Orange juice and egg on toast. Sunny side up just how i always like it. Thank you, Roger, you are ever so kind. Now if you'll excuse me dear, I've got to get dressed. He melts away. I hear it's the new technology these days.
As i apply my rouge in the mirror, i come to the conclusion that i'm no longer in love with him. What's his name again? My hand holding the lipstick to my lip trembles on the spot. My reflection does the same thing, well it should but then it leaves me. Come back!
I'm walking downstairs, I realise that the red carpet wasn't rolled out. Roger must have forgotten, it's alright. He is getting old. The cameras are flashing though. It's gone all black and white just for me. I smile. "Did you just ask me to pout Ben? You little so and so!"
He's sitting downstairs, having breakfast all alone. The spotlight's on him. His name is...It doesn't really matter because he's not paying me any attention.
"Honey, where's Roger? He forgot all about the carpet. Can you believe him? He's getting old! haha." I laugh partly because he's on his own.
"Get a grip, woman. I think you're getting old." He says sipping his orange juice. He's getting old too. We're growing old together, it's not as romantic as i once would have thought. He's going to work today, it's a good thing really. He gets up removing his blazer from the mahogany chair. We kiss each other. I reach for his dry lips and he aims for my cheek. Altogether it looks like a disaster. I'm glad there are no guests.
Roger's here, he doesn't take notice. He knows not to. Here's a fake smile for you, Roger, you deserve to know that everything's fine.
I watch time fly me by. Drink after drink. Chore after chore. He enters with a slam on the door. He seems unimpressed. The neighbours could have heard that slam from a mile away. He's angry. What was it this time? I've got problems of my own. I don't want to know. I'm also in my favourite dress, I won't want anything spilt on it. It's black and the lining's silver.
He storms into the kitchen where i'm sitting.
"Where's dinner?! you've done nothing all day!!"
"Calm down, it's in the oven. Roger made it."
"ARGH!" He's got hold of my neck, i'm struggling. "You're crazy, when will you learn to be normal, you look like a whore!" He lets go, he must be feeling sorry for me. I don't think so. He searches and finds an empty whisky bottle. He grasps it and aims for my head.
"Do it! Just do it! It's what you've always wanted isn't it?" He's breathing more deeply now, thinking hard. It's not what he wants. The neighbours are laughing at us. I would too.
I'm leaning against the living room cabinet and remove a gun from one of the wooden drawers. I'm not gonna kill him. I don't even know his name. I hand him the gun.
"Go on, do it..pull the bloody trigger!" Now i'm shouting. The neighbours would be satisfied. He holds it, confused.
"What's your name again?" I laugh.
Oh now he's want to do it...