Serving Death for Breakfast

His wet hair damped his shirt collar. His hands shook as he fiddled with his bow tie.  A velvet box was secured tightly in his hands. With his thumb, he stroked the soft fibers of its lid then pried it open. A heart-shaped necklace with the words: Gladys My Love, You Hold My Heart.

His wife hovered over the eggs as they crackled in the pan. A hot droplet of oil struck her cheek. From above, she heard the bedroom door creak open.

He smiled inhaling the aromatic smell of coffee and fried bacon. The stairs squeaked as he descended.

The kitchen doors swung open, and already his plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, bacon, and sliced orange was waiting. He sat placing the napkin on his lap while tapping at the velvet box in his trouser pocket.

She grabbed the pot of coffee smiling as its steam warmed her face. After she served him a cup, she sat down.

“Drink, my dear, before it gets cold,” she said while sipping her coffee, “I made it different today, I put cinnamon and a little something extra.”

Without glancing at her, he nodded shoving a fork-full of eggs into his mouth.

“I think-” but before she could finish her sentence, he interrupted her.

“Miriam, I’m trying to eat.” Specks of food flew from his mouth. He reached for the coffee taking long sips.

Miriam put her head down and sipped her coffee.

A short while later.

His stomach burned then his throat. Foam gushed from his mouth. He looked to his wife for help, but she had vomited blood onto the table. Droplets of blood flew on their faces. She collapsed to the floor; her body convulsed as her eyes rolled back. She smiled knowing he would join her soon.

via Daily Prompt: Aromatic

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