Dawn had arrived, revealing the beautiful tones and hues of the world. Baby birds began chirping for their breakfast, their parents busily hopping along the ground, bobbing their heads every so often into the tall grass. The bees began their daily trek, buzzing around the flowers and bushes, searching for food that would later be distributed amongst the hive. The wind rustled lightly through the trees, causing them to chatter quietly amongst themselves.
It was a glorious morning!
The air exuded that new-day smell, compelling a more favourable outlook on life no matter the circumstances.
It had rained earlier in the morning. Many little drops of water sat glistening on the blades of grass while others scurried down the tree trunks and branches, disappearing underneath the soil to nourish the greenery of the upper world.
The sun slowly gained ground on the puddles in the streets as a misty haze rose up towards the heavens. Its orange-yellow rays promised a hot day. They warmed Art, and he raised his face towards its brilliance.
Closing his eyes from the harsh glare, he luxuriated in this often-overlooked moment of beauty. Its embrace calmed him, and he drank in the sweet sounds of nature that floated by his ears.
Then he remembered something. He was quite late, but he was also quite hungry. His belly rumbled and his throat was dry. It seemed like ages since his last meal, but in truth was only twelve hours ago when he'd had a late night dinner with his wife. Nevertheless, he quickly crossed the street and onto the sidewalk where he peered into the windows of small bistros and cafes to see what the day's offerings were.
Suddenly, it came to him.
Work!
He was late for work. Again. He thought it best to grab a quick bite and be off to the office before he found himself in trouble with his boss.
Art's stomach was really growling now, and he realized there was a huge pain gnawing at his insides as well. He really needed to catch a bite to eat soon.
It was well known by his friends and co-workers that Art had an unparalleled sense of style. He always impressed those around him, constantly receiving approving and envious eyes from strangers of both genders.
Today, Art was dressed in a well-tailored suit. It was a deep royal blue in colour with pale baby-blue pinstripes outlining it. An expensive gold watch complimented his look. His wife, Barbara, had almost insisted upon purchasing the kitschy Rolex he despised, giving him his efficient, sleek, enviable timepiece instead. He also happened to be wearing a pair of diamond-studded, twenty-four carat gold cufflinks Barbara had given to him for his birthday last June. To round out his crisp outfit, Art had chosen a white silk tie with burgundy stripes.
His shoes were of the finest imported leather, but suffered a little scuffing from his walking over two miles to work every day, hoping to lose a little weight.
This trend towards the healthy began when Barbara noticed the appearance of some love handles, along with the small paunch in his belly.
They had dated for two years and been married for another five year.
They had also been having problems lately.
Over the past two years, their marriage had turned boring and predictable in the bedroom. Evenings once spent cuddling on the couch and watching television together were now filled with redundant arguments. They mainly concerned the direction of their marriage and their separate outlooks.
Having tried and failed for the past few years to create a little bundle of joy to lend significance to their lives, their marriage had devolved into a series of painful jabs and insults. Barbara frequently went out of her way to poke fun at him. making silly comments pertaining to Art's new figure. The haranguing made him feel inadequate whenever he was naked around her. The feeling caused their sex life, which wasn't glorious to begin with, to deteriorate into a rare occurrence, at most four times a year.
The sexlessness made Barbara feel rejected, fuelling her domineering and emasculating attitudes. But no matter how bad their situation got, Art would always love Barbara. 'After all,' he thought, 'Barbara's the most beautiful woman in the world.' And at the end of the day, they did truly love each other, and things would surely work themselves out eventually.
Art's wife was blessed with a model's beauty and very much accustomed to getting her way. A meticulous woman who liked things just so, it wasn't hard for her to find excuses to torment Art. She didn't stop at those few extra pounds around his midriff, but mocked his outward appearance as well.
Today, upon noticing that one of his shirttails was hanging outside his pants, Art scolded himself for being so unkempt. He quickly tried pushing the shirttail back into his pant waist before anyone else noticed his faux pas.
The damn thing refused to go in properly.
He tried again, slowly this time. Still, he couldn't get the stubborn thing back in properly. A thought flashed through his mind about how his wife would tear him a new one if she saw his lack of upkeep. She was always prodding him about how his disorderliness would be looked upon unfavourably by their neighbour, Ben, who was an overly tanned, good-looking bachelor. Barbara was always going on about how Ben set a standard of style to look up to.
Initially, Art believed Barbara was having an affair with Ben. Early one August in the beginning of their marriage, Ben was throwing a neighbourhood barbecue. Barbara had gone into the house to help Ben bring out some wine and more glasses from the kitchen. They found themselves alone, and Ben must have made some amusing remark because Barbara began laughing that fake hysterical laugh she used when she'd had too much to drink.
Barbara reached for some wine glasses hanging on a rack above the counter. While her arms were in the air, Ben reached around and ground his crotch into her rear, then brushed his arms against her breasts while retrieving a corkscrew on the counter in front of her. After taking the extra wine glasses, Barbara turned to face Ben who had remained with his arms wrapped around her. Ben seemed to move in for a kiss, but Barbara whispered something in his ear and he quickly removed his arms.
Art watched it all take place through a mirror on the far side of the kitchen. He chalked it up as a drunken advance and a soft-spoken denial.
However, there was the one time they had gone shopping. Art had decided to peruse the electronics section while Barbara continued on gathering groceries. Art picked out a DVD he thought Barbara would like to watch and went off in search of their cart. He found it parked at the top of an aisle, but not seeing his wife anywhere decided to go across the top row of the store.
Six aisles away, he finally found her. She had met up with Ben, his empty cart parked in front of them. They looked like they were pulling back from what Art would call an intimate embrace.
That afternoon when Art had questioned her about it, she reassured him that it was just a friendly greeting. Barbara dismissed his concerns by stating, "You know how I am, Honey. I'm an extremely friendly person!"
The entire situation stung Art, but upon reflection, he'd imagined that's how everyone would describe his wife.
'Overly friendly.'
There was also the time he'd come home from work early. Finding his wife wasn't at home, he called her cell only to get her voicemail. Art decided to see if she was over visiting Ben. He'd heard giggling and splashing coming from the backyard, so he skipped the front door and walked across the lawn to the back-gate. He looked over the fence and was shocked to see Ben and a topless Barbara frolicking in the pool.
Barbara was leaping at Ben, giggling like a teenager. She was unsuccessfully trying to cover her bouncing breasts while she jumped. She was attempting to retrieve the bra portion of her swimsuit from Ben who was swinging it above his head like he'd just won a prize. They moved about the pool with him stopping to dangle the bra over her head every once in awhile. He'd quickly move backwards just out of her reach each time she made a lunge for the bra.
It carried on until they caught sight of Art gawking at them. Ben mumbled something unintelligible and resignedly tossed the bra back to a humiliated and crimsoned Barbara.
Over dinner that evening, Barbara explained that when she had dove off the diving board, she'd lost her top when she hit the water. Ben, ever the saucy one, retrieved it first and decided to have a bit of innocent fun while she was caught in such a predicament.
She went to great lengths to assure Art, "It's just a bit of innocent flirting, that's all. Honest, Love."
After a lengthy inner examination of his wife's morals and love, not to mention her continuing threats that their marriage was over if he didn't trust her, he dismissed any thoughts of her having an illicit affair.
Art convinced himself that while his wife was a lot of things, his Barbara wasn't a cheater.
Art was still attempting to push his uncooperative shirttail back into his pants. He noted that this wasn't the first time he'd had problems completing a simple task. He'd actually been having quite a few issues with his motor skills lately.
Confusing thoughts flashed across his mind. Art was having trouble concentrating until a clear thought solidified in his mind.
Perhaps he was having a stroke.
He'd read somewhere once that people sometimes suffer confusion and loss of motor skills during a stroke. He was having an exceptionally hard time collecting his thoughts this morning.
Art's mind cleared the moment he heard a door opening a few doors down and saw a woman and man exiting a store. Art raised and bent his arm, directing a nod of his head in friendly greetings toward the couple.
Art's stomach rumbled and he returned his mind to the prospect of food. He looked back into the diner's window to see their offerings but took notice of his reflection.
His hair was in quite a state, scraggly with little tufts of it blowing every which way. He quickly looked back at the couple ashamedly, then turned his head back to the diner's window and proceeded to smooth down his hair. Art noticed that in addition to his windblown mess of hair, he also looked rather peaked. Putting his hand to his cheek, he leaned in closer to have a better look. He hoped he wasn't coming down with something.
Art cocked his head and thought, 'That's strange...since when did I-'
It was in the midst of that cognizant moment that a bullet entered his right temple and exited through his left.
Art's blood and chunks of his brain matter splattered across the diner's window and onto the walkway as he crumpled lifelessly onto the pavement.
Art's final conscious thought was that his wife and neighbour would certainly have something to say if they could see him now.
That was, if he hadn't dined on them the evening before.
