It was all just an illusion. An untrue bloody facade. Not one word of it true. Those declarations of love, empty and meaningless words. Those declarations of loyalty and desire, equally empty, shallow and meaningless.
He had grown to hate the lies, the untruths and deceptions. The dishonesty, disloyalty and deceit. He had grown to hate her. He sat by her bedside, watching her sleep. She seemed so innocent, pure, angelic even. The long blonde hair flowing gently on the pillow. The pleasantly ample bosom, rising and falling slowly and gracefully. Scenes and images at one time which would have excited and thrilled him, now meant nothing. A cruel reminder of times wasted. Love proffered but not returned.
Kidding himself it was true love, when it was nothing of the sort. More a case of two lonely people using each other for company, until someone better or more suitable came along. She had wasted enough of his time, enough of his life. He looked out of the bedroom window towards the dull grey sky, and once more at her resting body. Gripping the heavy blue pillow tightly between his hands, he laid it across her face, and leaned his full body weight onto it. His breathing calm and measured.  She struggled as he had expected and was prepared for. Her legs kicked out viciously. Her deceptive hands pulled at the heavy pillow. Her chest rose and fell rapidly now, as the fear, panic and struggle to breath engulfed and overcame her. Perspiration formed on his forehead, his weight and strength more than a match for hers.
After a few moments it was done. The struggle subsided. He released his grip on the heavy pillow and removed it from her face, allowing it to fall from his hands and gently to the floor. Believing he should weep, or at least feel some emotion. Instead he felt nothing. Perhaps a some little relief, and happiness. maybe a sense at last of some freedom. Tears and sadness absent. He sat back in the wooden chair and watched her. She seemed so peaceful and at rest, as he was……


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