The Ring, by Amelia

The ring, that dreadful ring, that hated ring. She is a lovely woman, but no, no. Not for me. 

“Take this ring”, my father says, “You are now a man, growing older.”

“Marry her”, my mother says,” Start a new part of your life.”

They are aged, too close to death. What do they know? Nothing, wasting their lives, just counting down the days till death. But not I, no, not I. I will stay young, mark my words.

I have plans for life, not for death. I am meticulous in my movements, decisions, and promises.

The ring is tarnished and ancient. I am young and vibrant. I take the old piece of metal in my hands, to please them. But this ring will not take my life. Marriage is not for me. My life will not be drained away by vows and engagements.

Days pass. Taking the ring was not enough, now my father is impatient.

“The time is now”, my father says, “The marriage is already planned.”

“Be grateful”, my mother says, “She is a beautiful young woman.”

Young. Exactly. Young for now. But that is not enough for me. But every day the ring looks darker, stained. I now know what I must do to stop the progression of these events.

I acquire each of the items I need slowly, as to not arise suspicion. My plan is perfect, with me playing the part of a heartbroken young man.

I put together a nice dinner. I tell my parents that tonight is the night; I’m going to give her the ring. They believe me, and my plan to become a free man starts.

I invite Adelaide over, telling her I have a proposal. She is a beautiful woman, sweet, poised. I feel a bit ill at the thought of the coming hours, but I must move on. Nothing can impede my progress now.

I take that ring, archaic and dull, and coat it in a poison. No sooner do I slip it into her wine and set it on the table, Adelaide is escorted into the room. Her face is-upset, scared? - suspicion? No, it must be my mind playing tricks. The end of my plan is near, merely nerves.   When I look back up, she is smiling once again.

“Come here my dear, take a drink.” I offer her the glass.

She nears the table. My heart beats faster. I can hold on to my youth.

But she falters and stops, a few paces from the table. My heart skips a beat. I lean in and try to hand her the glass.

“Oh, no thank you. I don’t drink”

My breath quickens. Things are falling apart.

“Why don’t you drink it?”, she questions, “Seems like an awful waste.”

I have no choice. If I don’t take it she will know.

Maybe a sip. Just a taste. By chance the poison has not mixed with the wine yet.

I lift the glass to my lips hands shaking. Adelaide stares straight into my eyes.

I taste. I swallow. The ring brushes my lips. I feel my chest grow tight.

And then, she smiles.

“I too have plans for life, my dear.” She grabs the glass and pours the content on the floor.

The ring clatters to the ground. So do I. The poison is taking affect.

I gasp. I writhe. She knew the whole time.

And as I die, I see the ring, that dreadful ring, that hated ring, lying upon the floor by my side.