They had been married for ten years, ten years too many for Ken. Ken didn't think Hope would last the year when they wed, after all, she was 80 when he married her, and on oxygen. Ken knew she had other ailments as well, and also knew exactly how much she was worth, 250 million dollars. He should know, after all, he had been sitting next to the eccentric old woman when she hit the jackpot. And when she turned to him and said, "Hey sonny, wanna get a room" his revultion was quickly contained by automatically thinking of how much money he might come away with, and was unbelieving when she proposed to him later that evening. Unbelieving until the next morning when she had Ken sign a pre-nup agreement she had scrawled on a cocktail napkin. A pre-nup that had now imprisoned him in a sick marriage that he could now barely bring himself to think about. There was no possibility of divorce, the napkin pre-nup was found to be valid by more than one lawyer, and he would get nothing if he were to divorce her. The pre-nup compelled him to perform his connubial duty every day at her request, or she would divorce him leaving him nothing, it was, "until death do you part" to have it all. The years had taken their toll on Ken, his life had become a gross nightmare and he wished he had never signed that goddamned napkin.
A cackling voice brought him back from his dark meditation, 'mid the sound of a flushing commode, "Ring for the servant to bring up some more toilet paper would you daahling," Another flush and what sounded like several water balloons bursting, "What do you think of my new necklace, take a look at it". Sitting on the edge of the triple queen size bed, he slowly brought his head up from his hands where he had been hiding his eyes, and shuddered, her stretched and wrinkled folded teats of flesh painfully filled his vision. The words caught in his throat along with a bit of bile, " It's...it's lov-lovely,." he managed to choke out before quickly returning his head to the sanctuary of his hands. There was a toilet in the corner of every room, right out in the open. Hope was not only eccentric but afflicted with chronic diarreah, thus the abundance of toilets. Another burst, spackled the porcelain, this time a shout,"Where's that goddam houseman with the toilet paper." Ken steeled himself as he would have to glimpse her sitting there again, "I'll go and get it for you." He stood quickly, grateful for a moments respite, started out of the room to search for the servant who was scrubbing one of the mansions many chromium/titanium alloy toilets. The mansion reminded him of prison, with its toilets in plain view, he almost wished he were back in prison, almost. As he walked out of the room Hope shouted, "Why don't you go ahead and fire that son of a bitch, I'm sick of his lolly-gaggling." A surge of anticipation coursed through Ken, like he was waiting for the third reel of a slotmachine to payout a fortune, "Are you sure honey?, he's the last of the house staff." The reel clicked, stopped, "Yes, yes Kenny, we can always hire another one." Perfect, now there would be no-one in the enormous mansion but the two of them, no witnesses, now he could finally kill her...and collect his jackpot!
One problem confronted him, how to do it and not get caught, dna evidence had helped to convict him on his last offense, she had to die of natural causes, he did not want to face the possibility of another prison sentence... or worse. Strolling down the long marbled hallway, he seized upon a brilliant idea, a simple gag, one that just might shock and induce Hope into sudden cardiac arrest. Ken quickly located the servant, stuffed a wad of hundred dollar bills in his shirt pocket and showed him the front door. Ken grabbed a bottle of catsup from the pantry and a sharp butcher knife, then nearly ran back up the stairs and down the hallway to the bedroom where Hope was watching her favorite show, "Murder she wrote." Ken waited at the door for a commercial break, he knew better than to disturb her while she watched one of her shows. Finally, a commercial came on the widescreen, Hope looked up as Ken cleared his throat. A devillish grin spread across his face, "How about after your show we go to the master bedroom and play hide the salami." A tiny giggle escaped her raspy throat, in a short coughing fit. "Why you rascal." Ken smiled even more and slowly licked his lips, "I'm going to be waiting for you on the bed, I'm going to make it special for you this time." Ken spun around and darted down the hall. Hope briefly wondered why he was so eager, she usually had to threaten him to get him to perform but the commercial ended and she promptly turned her attention back to the show and forgot about it.
In the master bedroom Ken began frantically working on his surprise. Pulling aside the bedsheets he began ripping into the center of the huge pillowtop mattress with the butcher knife until there was a hole large enough to squeeze himself into. He struggled to wedge apart the springs and pushed himself downward. The bed was almost perfect, he only had to bend his knees slightly to fit all the way in. He grabbed the bedsheets and cut a slit in them large enough for his head to poke through, smeared catsup around the opening, smoothed the sheets then wriggled his arms in one at a time, bent his knees, closed his eyes, and the illusion was complete. He was now a bloody severed head on the bed.
Hope shuffled as fast as she could down the hallway, her oxygen cannister in tow. Her excitement rose as she pushed on the doubledoors and they slowly swung open. Her eyes widened as she stared into the room, she stumbled forward to the foot of the bed and leaned down peering at the decapitated bloody head in disbelief. That's when Ken opened his eyes and screamed. The color immediately drained from her face, invisible straps of iron banding her chest as she gasped for air that would not come. Hope involuntarily fouled herself , lost consciousness and fell to the floor.
Ken whooped with joy, he could see she wasn't breathing, a few more minutes and she would be dead, and he would be young, rich, and free. He began to work an arm out to pull himself up but something was wrong, it was stuck. He tried his other arm and began to panic when it too became stuck. He started to struggle violently, wriggling, straining his limbs against the springs until he could feel the warmth of his trickling blood as they cut into his legs, he quickly became exhausted and began shouting but soon stopped, panic had turned to pure terror as he realized that no-one outside would ever hear him. The room was really beginning to stink now, he was hungry, he was thirsty, and he needed to pee.
