Bruce meanders about his two-story Victorian-inspired home, located on a private driveway in the greenest neighborhood of the greenest town of Connecticut. As he passes by the family portrait of his wife, Helen, his daughter, Rose, and his son, Troy, both in high school, he wonders if the automated percolator is turned on for the smell of freshly ground coffee beans from the greenest part of Columbia is missing from the morning air.
But he surmises that he will tend to it after he walks down the hallway that was imported from Italy, to his grand master study where volumes and volumes of books he never read fill the built-in shelves. His dark-stained wood desk that was modeled after Charles Dickens's desk, beckons him to sit down and write a few lines of prose he had been struggling to write for the past eighteen years. A Dickensian typewriter sits in the center mocking his progress or lack thereof. He always imagined himself to be a prolific writer but working for the greenest money at Greene, Redd, & Associates is more desirable and takes much of his time.
He sits in his leather high-back chair and stares at the polished top of his desk and admires the shine of the gloss. Is that a scratch? No, it can't possibly be a scratch. The desk, does indeed, have a scratch, even though it was polished yesterday with the darkest polish he found because his wife insists upon having the darkest polished wood in their neighborhood. Bruce went to call for his maid, who is from the greenest village of Chile, whom Bruce pays the greenest salary among all the help in the greenest neighborhood in the greenest town of Connecticut, but he stops. There in the doorway, the maid is waiting for him.
You see, dear reader, Bruce grew up in the darkest neighborhood of the darkest town in the darkest time of the country. His uncle, who gained guardianship of him after both of his parents died from the darkest drugs they found in the darkest alleyways, was the darkest man in the darkest neighborhood of the darkest town. By miracle alone, Bruce was spared the darkness because he did what he was told and quite well in fact.
His uncle would ask Bruce to get the greenest money from the greenest people in the greenest neighborhoods to pay for the darkest drugs from the darkest man. Why these people did these things, Bruce never asked and his uncle never told. But Bruce knew that's where he wanted to live the second he was able to. So Bruce continued to get the greenest in exchange for the darkest.
When Bruce was nineteen and had saved enough of the greenest money he earned over the past six years, six months, and six days, he moved to the greenest state in the country and changed his last name using one of the darkest men he could find in such a green place, so that the darkest man he once knew would never find him. As he got older, word came to him that his uncle had passed and the darkest fears he had had dissuaded. Moving forward, he did what others did. He did normal things and created a family thought to be the greenest family in all of Connecticut.
But now, as he stares into the darkest eyes of the greenest maid, with the reddest hands holding the bloodiest knife, it dawns on him why the coffee isn't percolating. The Italian, polished floor let the droplets slide here and there and a dark fear rises inside Bruce.
Again, dear reader, if you would reroute your mind back to the past for just a moment.
A week ago, the greenest maid from the greenest part of Chile had been slapped by the greenest wife of Connecticut for accidentally spilling the darkest coffee on the imported floor of Bruce's study. She had stumbled onto Helen taking sordid pictures of herself in the greenest silk robe she had ever seen. Helen would subsequently send them to many heres and theres to many theys and thems.
The next day, the greenest son of the greenest family sneaked into the maid's room under the influence of the darkest drugs he bought with the greenest money he had from the darkest man he knew and forced himself on her. She froze and laid there in the darkest moment that lasted longer than longest. When Troy was done, he told her not to spill the coffee ever again.
Two days after, the maid tried to talk to Bruce because he seemed like the nicest man whom she could trust but he was always gone working at the greenest company, where he would impress the reddest executives, and come home during the darkest hours, and she never got the chance. Two days after that, she finally got the nerve to tell Rose while she was studying for a mid-term. The greenest daughter gave the slightest hint of concern but then the darkest part of her memory came forging through and she told the maid that if she said anything further, then Troy would repeat the darkest moment and share it with their mother and they would laugh and laugh. The maid did not know if Rose was referring to herself or not.
And so, today, my worried reader, Bruce, who has done every normal thing he can to perpetuate a normal life as is normally expected of him in the greenest society of the reddest country, is seeing the darkest blood drip from the greenest maid. He calls out to his wife, to his daughter, and to his son, but no one answers. He calls out again to Helen, to Troy, to Rose, his eyes still on her eyes. She's blocking the door way with her diminutive frame.
Bruce grabs an 18th century metal candelabra he has never put candles in, and hurls it toward the maid, missing her head and puts a dent in the refined moulding in the door frame. She is unphased, and begins to move forward, her soft shoes smudging the imported Italian floor with blood. He lifts the Dickensian typewriter he was sure was authentic at the time of purchase for $9,876.54, but like any old typewriter, it was too heavy to throw far. The maid, now in three steps was upon him, moves the knife forward and his shaking body takes two steps backward and he falls with the darkest fear ravaging inside him with the heaviest typewriter. With one thump to the floor, it falls on his face and the reddest blood squelches out from all sides.
The now darkest maid in the greenest neighborhood in the greenest town of Connecticut has rid herself of the darkest family she has ever known. That night, with the greenest money she could find, like any normal person, she buys a ticket and goes back home to the greenest part of Chile.
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