Short Story – To Juliet

A story on diminishing love

I miss the feeling of your warm embrace, your smile, your playful way of talking to me and just the fact you aren’t around always leaves me in tears. 

I stand here in front of your grave reading the intricate writing of your epitaph, as I do every first day of the month.

“In memory of a loving and deserving sister, daughter and wife…”

I had chosen this words when the priest asked what I wanted him to give the stone cutter for her tombstone. Her family had been surprised at the words, expecting more from me especially since I had an occupation as a writer.


For the most part Juliet was a very loving wife, even though we had our little squabbles now and then, we always made up and never ended nothing in short of being back in each other’s arms at the end of the night. We made love most times, every opportunity we got; which was a lot. She was excellent in bed and I can say, I was shortly behind.

All that changed when I became a bestseller, I was engrossed with press conferences, meetings and book signings. Juliet and I became more distant from each other than ever. 

I would hardly come home during the week and hardly ever talked to her when I did. We stopped having sex as frequent as before and, soon enough we stopped having sex at all. 

Then everything went downhill.


At first I had my suspicions that Juliet was sleeping with other men but had no racket. I simply just got “a guy’ to start monitoring her movements, from the ‘late nights at the office’ to the ‘business trips’ and soon, I discovered that my wife was sleeping with a bloke named Matthew. 

Upon the discovery of this information I still kept my calm and waited for the right moment, it soon presented itself. I installed a hidden video camera that would run throughout the period I was gone on my trips. Soon enough, I came back to find some activity. 

To make this interesting I slotted the tape in while we were watching TV at night and watched her as she broke down in tears. She started begging me stating that it wasn’t her fault, adding something about being lonely and asking for forgiveness. 

I simply just stood up and left the house laughing at my mischievousness.

To make matters simple, I didn’t rush the murder. I merely got my ‘guy’ to hook the air conditioning in her car to a carbon monoxide tank. She ended her miserable life by crashing into a tree. 

Her bloke quickly slumped into depression and took up alcoholism which made my job easier. This time, I personally followed his movements and got to know where he always drinks. It was just a matter of putting a little arsenic in his drink and watching him die in the parking lot some moments later.


Now I stand in front of her grave with a gun in my hand and a cyanide pill in my other hand, brooding over which method to take my life. I have cut my inheritance in two, half to Juliet’s family and the other half to my ‘guy’ for a job well done. And, I have finally decided that I am going to use the cyanide. 

I dilute it in a shot of tequila which I brought with me and take a final shot.

To Juliet 

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