Strolling back and forth in his apartment, I carefully review every vital detail of my plan. I am only missing one piece to the puzzle: him. All he needs to do is come home. I know he left work at eleven, but it is now one o’clock. I am sure he is with her—that thieving woman to whom he swore his double life. I hope he is having a ball, like Cinderella, because it’s past midnight. As of now, his time is ticking.

My mouth lets out a barely audible chuckle as I ponder my mischievous plans and slide my hands into my white, leather gloves, attempting not to leave a single trace of evidence. Afterwards, I lift the silver pistol I retrieved from his desk drawer and take imaginary shots at the door—the future scene of the crime. When I am satisfied with my firing stance, I place the cold pistol on the small, glass table. It makes a clinking sound, a sound that sends tiny, little chills down my spine and causes me to shiver.

After regaining my composure, I smile malevolently and guide my wearisome body down into the black, plushy chair directly in front of the door. The clean door that I will soon be forced to clean of blood. My mind begins to wander. Does he mock me? Does he laugh at me as he envisions me staying up all night waiting for him?

I get up and amble throughout the apartment. Sick of seeing his face everywhere, I turn over every portrait he is in.
As the ticking of the clock echoes through the house, I begin to ferociously bite my nails, feeling nervous, yet ambitious, as every second passes. Attempting to get my mind off of the villainous deed, I try to think of something else. But the aroma of the house, which reeks of disinfecting alcohol, chokes me and hinders any more thought. While I pace lightly back and forth, carefully making sure I am not heard by the drifters who rest gracefully below me, I hear the sound of a hand fumbling with the door knob. Rushing to retrieve my weapon, I stand, with my eyes focused on the door, my hands firmly clutching the dangerous piece of metal, my legs shoulder length apart, and my senses lost somewhere in my deep subconscious.
Finally, the door slowly creaks open, allowing a thin strip of bright light into the moonlit room. He sneaks into the room, quietly shutting the door. He smiles with triumph, assuming he has not awoken me. He guessed wrong! I fire one shot and hear the sound of ripping skin, followed by driplets of blood, staining the ground. Bull’s-eye! My hand shakes as I drop the smoking pistol and watch the dark, shadowy figure sink to the floor, where it takes two—no, three—three breaths and lets out a final sigh. The deed is done. Bending down near the body, I grab his jacket and, before placing it atop him, whisper the question every girl desires to know.

“What does she have that I do not?”
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice—well, I guess that’s why you’re dead.