[ WP ] Faking Your Demise ( replies must be 1,000 words or more )

*Why? * I thought to myself yet again. Three times. Three wives. What is wrong with me? Well, murder-suicide seems to work generally. I put Samantha ’ s body in the car, and went back inside. I wrote a suicide note, detailing how sorry I was. In reality, I wasn ’ t sorry. That bitch deserved to die, after going and cheating on me like the other two. I drove to the bridge, and drove off. It became a science by now. I opened the door in mid-air, and jumped at just the right time, slowing my descent just enough to hit the water and live, while able to watch my car, and my third identity sink to the muddy depths. I swam to land and went back to my house. I packed a few things, enough for me to live off of, but not enough for the police to suspect anything, and I left. 
 
 I walked into the airport and looked at the signs. I could go anywhere, start a new life. After mastering Italian, French, and now English, I could go so many places. I scrolled through the cities. Tokyo, Chicago, Mexico City, but none pleased me, until my eyes stumbled upon Barcelona. I bought the ticket and got to my seat. An uncomfortable ride lasted over four hours, but eventually, I made it. I walked off the plane, out of the airport, and was greeted with an aroma of smells and sights. 
 
 Within a week, I found a job and a comfortable apartment. I could, from my balcony, see La Sagrada Familia, the epitome of Barcelona. Gaudi had other amazing, famous buildings I loved to explore over and over. Within a year I learned Spanish. I was settling in nicely, with a stable job as a bartender, a quaint apartment, and a boat to occasionally sail about, life was good. 
 
 As I grew older, I grew lonelier. I was 53 now, and life was catching up with me. I was aging; I was no longer active, in shape, or enjoying life as I once did. I went to seek adventure. I walked to the bar I worked at, and gave my two-week notice. As I was walking out of the bar, I bumped into a woman who appeared to be my age. Her name, Maria, just like my first wife. She was always my favorite, my first wife. She was kind, sweet, and lovable. But she broke my heart like the other two, and I ended up killing her in a fit of rage. Maria and I went to a movie together that Friday, and my boss let me take back my two-week notice. I went on to talk to Maria, and after six months, things were getting more serious. She sold her house and moved in with me. We were enjoying life, sometimes going on excursions on my boat, sometimes visiting some of the things around Barcelona, and sometimes just enjoying a movie at the apartment. After another four months, I proposed to Maria. 
 
 “ Yes, yes! I love you so much! I can ’ t live without you! Oh yes! ” 
 
 We hugged and kissed. She cried. I held her. We went back to my apartment, and life was good. After twelve years, we were happily married, and I was ready to retire. So I did. Then the fighting started. Maria wanted to move to Greece, but I wanted to stay here. I rebuilt my life here, and I couldn ’ t leave. Not unless something drastic happened. 
 
 “ How about this, Maria, ” I replied one night after a big fight, “ why don ’ t we take a vacation to Greece. If we like it, we can buy a house. I will go back to Barcelona and send you all of our belongings, before coming back. ” 
 
 “ That seems reasonable. ” 
 
 A year into retirement, I came out of it, and got a job to support this vacation. Things were turning around between Maria and me. We communicated better, we had a better diet, we got in shape, we sold the boat, and we started to live better. Within a year of getting the job, I left again, and we went to Greece. 
 
 Greece was a beautiful place. Lush, green plants everywhere, beautiful architecture, it was a place Maria fell in love with immediately. But I hated it. It was ugly in my opinion. The government was in shambles, the economy was awful, and the land was too hilly for an old people like us. We couldn ’ t sustain life there. But Maria had her heart set upon it. 
 
 On the last day of vacation, we were going to go see the Parthenon, then get on a boat to cruise back to Barcelona. We saw the Parthenon, and while Maria saw it as a stunning testament to time, I saw a crumbling old building. After spending some time there, we went to get on the ship. We boarded with ease, and settled in our room. The boat took off at four o ’ clock, and we ate dinner at the dining room at six. Maria means the world to me. Tonight is going to be hard. 
 
 As we went up to our room, I suggested we take a breather outside. We walked to the balcony, put our arms on the railings, and looked over the cold, deep, black, churning sea. In the distance were the lights of Greece. The salty air hit our faces, and I started talking. 
 
 “ Maria, I love you with all my heart. ” Little did Maria know, I was talking about my first wife, the one who caused me my first pain, who caused all of my anger problems and all of my rage. “ I truly do. I will miss you. ” 
 
 “ What are you talking about, you will miss me? ” she replied anxiously. 
 
 “ Well, I may as well tell you. I ’ m a serial killer. ” 
 
 “ We ’ ve been married for twelve years. There ’ s no way. I ’ ve never heard of killings on the radio or TV. You ’ re lying to me. Why? ” 
 
 “ I ’ m not lying. I ’ ve been married three times before you. You ’ re my fourth wife. All of the other three, they were killed, then their husband ‘ killed himself ’ in a tragic murder-suicide. If you look up the stories, they ’ re quite touching really. ” 
 
 Maria tried to run in vain. I caught her quickly and brought her back to the railing. 
 
 “ See that water? That ’ s where it all ends. I love you, I truly do, but I can ’ t move to Greece. Not after everything I ’ ve done. I ’ ve lived in Italy, France, England, and now Spain. And now, I ’ m going to live with you forever. In the water. ” 
 
 I threw Maria over the railing. 
 
 “ No! Why did you jump? ” I yelled, making a scene. Then I jumped after her. 

