He approached the door with a bottle of white wine in his left fist and a single white rose and his keys in his right hand. This was Las Vegas, but snow was everywhere. He was amazed and overjoyed. Such a special romantic gesture fate had conjured up for this special night. The welcome mat was covered in it. He kicked some of the snow off and smiled at the irony of the mat only saying, "Wel..." He slowly opened the door and dropped his keys at the sound of a blood chilling scream. The wine, the rose, and his keys fell to the floor as the ran to the kitchen to grab a blade. The scream was comming from up stairs in the bedroom. He hoped he wasn't too late. He wasn't going to lose his Angel, his love on their five year anniversary. He silently crept up the stairs with the blade erect and out front. The blade led him to towards the screams that intensified as he got closer. Now both hands gripped the blade tightly. He got to the bedroom door and kicked it open. What he saw drove him mad. The screams weren't from fear. They were from pleasure, pain, betrayal, and infadelity. His best friend and his Angel both stared him in the eyes. The blade fell from his hands as if it was never there in the first place. The only evidence of his intention to save his screaming wife was the redness of his palms from gripping the blade so tightly. His friend rushed towards him expecting that the knife was a weapon to punish their betrayal. He only fell to his knees as his friend jumped on him to subdue him. He didn't know why but the light reflecting on the blade called out to him. He had to do it. It was fate. As he laid on his stomach weeping with his stark naked friend on his back. He thought of the qoute from Ceasar, "Et tu Brute..." His hand slowly crept towards the knife. His Angel let out perhaps her loudest scream of the night as he took possesion of his blade again and entered it into his friend's right side of his throat. She raced towards the door hoping to get past he husband and her dying fling. He pulled the blade from his friend's throat and sliced through her achiles tendon with such strenght and rage that it propelled her to the floor. He rolled his dying friend off himself and crawled towards her with the knife. She screamed for help. Then he crawed on top of her and looked her in her teary eyes as she began, "I'm so sorry." He smiled at her in a manevolant way she'd only seen when he was working on "that book" as she called it. In fact, he'd changed since working on "that book." He'd go days without sleeping or eating. It make him impatient and moody. He's landed a publishing deal up in New York and left her alone on their anniversery, what else was she supposed to do. His smile broke and he slammed the blade into her heart. Just like he'd had his heart ripped out, he wasn't going to stop until he tore hers from her naked chest. He stabbed and stabbed like a madman. Then the smile came back. He proceeded with the accuracy of a surgen in removing her heart from her chest. She laid there dead as he gripped her heart in his hands. It felt so warm. Perhaps there was still love in there. He held his Angel's heart up to his lips and kissed it...

He woke up sweating in his New York motel room sweating and cursing the nightmare he just had. It was his regret from not being home. It was his jealousy of the closeness of his wife and his best friend. It was just a dream. I wasn't the truth. He got out of bed with only his boxers on and saw something on T.V. that shocked the hell out of him. It was snowing in Las Vegas today. "Fuck the book!" he thought, "I got to get the fuck out of New York." He had to take the next plane from JFK to MCCarren, he had to face the possibe truth, because it really was snowing in Las Vegas...

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...