[ WP ] Write a murder from the perspective of a cheerful inanimate object

I like the prompt, but I changed cheerful to surly for my response. 
 
 I ’ ve always hated being the color blue. Trust me, it ’ s terrible. You won ’ t believe the amount of crap you have to deal with when you ’ re an awful shade of cornflower blue. It ’ s like living everyday with a bottle of Zoloft in one hand and a handgun in the other, always wondering which method of facing the day is preferable. Don ’ t believe me? Well fuck you. You don ’ t have to be cornflower-damn-blue and trampled on in the family room floor. 
 Everyday I ’ m waking up, the sun creeping in through the window with his smug rays of fading, sapping a little more of my vibrancy. He does this all while wearing a shining, shit eating grin. Next to him is the sky. She really rubs it in. HER blue is so much more azure, more elegant, more beautiful, more… snide. 
 I love cloudy days because fuck the pair of them. Days like the day when my life finally took a turn for the interesting. 
 So there I was, just lying there as always, trying to convince the candelabra the old crone left burning to tip over and take us all out of our damn misery when he came in. He is hard to describe, truth be told, but you ’ ve got to give me credit since I don ’ t have any damn eyes. He had some big friggin feet, let me tell you. From what I could tell by his clothing, black must have been in style this year and he must have been cold, what with the ski mask and all. It was late afternoon and he snuck in through the front door carrying a black bag slung over one shoulder. He disappeared into the garage for a bit and must have cut the power in there since the loudmouth radio finally shut the hell up with a soft pop. Thank god for that. I would have kissed the man for that alone. 
 He made sure all of the window hangings were drawn closed and took a seat on the couch nearby. He slipped his mask up and I glimpsed the man ’ s face for the first time in the swiftly dying light of the day. He was clean shaven with a blunt, broad chin. His eyes were blue. Hell, if I didn ’ t know any better I ’ d say they were the same color as me! 
 He sat lazily around until a car door slammed in the front yard beyond the door. The man lowered his mask and dug around in his bag briefly. He withdrew a spool of wire and rose from his seat, unwinding the length of the wire between his hands. He stood in the space behind where the door opens and slunk into the shadows a bit. A key sounded in the lock and the door creaked open. 
 The old witch was home. 
 She stomped in and roughly wiped her feet on my surface. God almighty! How tacky can you be? That ’ s what the damn doormat is for! 
 She shut the door as she fumbled for the light switch. Two impudent clicks of the switch later and the hag let out a confused sound. The man moved in like a cat and whipped the wire around her neck. It was precious. You should have seen her. She reached up and made a croaking sound in her throat. Her wrinkled hands clutched at the wire digging into her wrinkly ass neck. The man didn ’ t even seem to notice her struggle. He must work out or something. He stood there like a silent, sentinel of death. Blood was spraying out where the wire cut into her neck, staining the floor and couch with droplets of crimson. She eventually stopped struggling and went limp in the man ’ s arms. He let her drop and she slumped onto the floor. 
 I think sanguine is going to be a good color on me. 

