'Are you sleeping, my dear?
Doesn't matter, I have something to tell you. You can just listen, and not reply.
Today was a good day Laura.
I got a raise, a meager one, but a raise nonetheless.
Stuart said I looked healthier; I told him it was your doing.
After all, what is a man without a wife, eh?
I managed to impress quite a few people today. Quite a few people turned their heads as I walked past them.
It is cold now. I am positively freezing.
I am also very hungry. I think it's time for me to eat.
You sleep tight dear. Good night.'
Paul walked over to the living room where an old sofa lay in shambles. A small lump in the carpet tripped him over as he collapsed face-down on the cushion.
He closed his eyes like he always did. And sleep won him over.
When he woke up, it was 19:00.
He checked the time in haste, jumped off the sofa and straightened his clothes.
When the bathroom light flickered, the dried blood on his forehead gleamed viciously. He paid no attention to it and settled his hair. When it was 19:05, he opened the door to the bedroom.
There was one single chair and a small bed decorated with flower petals.
The petals were dry, of course. Shriveled and brittle like old newspaper.
The body atop them was a week old. The white tank top that was held by the knife in the stomach was brown and rusting. The remainder was nearing skeletal domain.
Paul checked his breath for odor. His palms were sweaty, as it always was during this time. He began.
'Are you sleeping, my dear?
Doesn't matter, I have something to tell you.
Today was a good day Laura.'