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The Last Perfect Day

Updated on January 26, 2017
Dean Traylor profile image

Dean Traylor is a freelance writer and teacher. He is a former journalist who has worked on various community and college publications.

He found his wife’s favorite chair and sank into it. His eyes never once left this scene.
He found his wife’s favorite chair and sank into it. His eyes never once left this scene. | Source

“Beautiful,” Dave Faustino whispered in reverence.

He stood by the bay window, taking in a panoramic view of the country side outside his mansion. Dave had seen this view a million times, yet on this day, it seemed so perfect.

He found his wife’s favorite chair and sank into it. His eyes never once left this scene.

A ray of light touched his face, sending a sense of elation through his body and mind. The heat felt good; the light was welcoming, a blessing. Everything out there beyond this house, he kept thinking, was the way thing should be.

A moment of realty entered his dazed mind. It was an eerie peace, but it was a peace after the moment of hell he had gone through just hours before this moment.

He heard the front door break open and slam against the wall.He knew what it meant. His moment of peace on that perfect day was going to be broken...and it would be forever.

“Mr. Faustino!” a voice growled. Then, another voice roared the same question.

Dave didn’t bother to answer. They should have known where he was. He told them where he’d be.

Precaution, he guessed.

"Honey," he said out loud, "This will be over soon."

His wife couldn't answer him.

He heard the front door break open and slam against the wall.He knew what it meant. His moment of peace on that perfect day was going to be broken...and it would be forever.

A moment of realty entered his dazed mind. In the distance, he heard the front door break open and slam against the wall.
A moment of realty entered his dazed mind. In the distance, he heard the front door break open and slam against the wall. | Source

There was good reason why they were there and for his wife's silence. The answer to that was all over his hands, still shockingly red. And it was everywhere. Most notably, it stained the fabric on the armrest of the chair that belonged to his wife.

Now, the men were at the bedroom door, banging, pleading, and threatening to bust it down. Dave paid no heed. Their voices faded in his head, as he became more transfixed by the perfect day outside the bay window.

The door blasted off its hinges. Two police officers entered the room, guns drawn. The first officer to enter saw the ghastly seen; Mrs. Faustino lay on the bed in her own blood. The second officer saw it, too, and nearly gagged.

The officers approached Dave, with extreme caution, stepping on a floor littered with credit card bills from the finest boutiques in town. However, when they got to his side, they relaxed and holstered their guns. Despite all the evidence of his violence smeared on his cloths and hand, Mr. Faustino was no threat to them.

“Mr. Faustino?” an officer asked, breaking the moment of silence.

Dave didn’t move. He kept his gaze on that perfect world, wondering how through all the bickering, fighting and ultimate climax of the day, he had not noticed this world outside.

A tear trickled down his cheek. He knew this would be the last perfect day of his life. He wished he had more time.

But, as the officers lifted him from the chair and handcuffed him, he realized that even those perfect days have to come to an end.

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© 2017 Dean Traylor

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