A man can be seen washing his hands, fixing his hair. He looks up at himself in the mirror, taking in his wrinkled appearance. His skin flaps and droops like a burning candle. He takes off his small chimney hat and takes a moment to appreciate his falling hair. It was gray, slicked to the side, with only a countable number of hairs remaining. His hairline had long since receded, and was falling apart like how he was.
The man had long since accepted his fate. Growing old, after all, was only natural and expected. Youth is only temporary, but love is eternal, for it will always stick around in your mind.
The sound of a calm, old style musical plays in the bathroom speakers. The calm melody of " my sweet Irish rose" makes the man hum in pleasure as he recalls this piece, his heart fluttering with a sense of peace at the familiarity of the song
This melody will be the last thing he ever recalls
He finishes washing his hands, jerking his wrists against the sink to shake off any water, before reaching for his cane to help himself to a dispenser for some paper. He enjoyed the temporary solitude, away from the loud noises of his granddaughter's wedding going on downstairs. It was just him... And the music... And the water... It was so quiet, he was so far away from the heat of it all...
No one could hear him scream...
Unfortunately for him, he wouldn't even get to grab his cane, as the door to the bathroom swings open, and A figure steps In. His head swings round to catch sight of who it is, the colour draining from his face as he saw who it was. Something about this man... he was up to no good. They put on a pair of gloves and approached the old man, and before the bastard could get away, he gripped him tightly by his head, making him stare into the sink he had just washed his hands seconds ago, now begining to overflow with water...
The old man let's out a grunt from the forceful grab, the adrenaline making him shake
BASH
BASH
He slips from the man's lethal grip, barley hanging on to life as he tires to desperately crawl away from him. His face is now bloody, a large gash across his left eye, with a deep, deep cut going across his eye, blood simmering dripping down his face in crimson rivulets. He whimpers In pain as he is futilely picked back up by his unyielding perpetrator. He tries to fight it, to not give in, but it's useless in the face of such brutal, unwaivering determination to liquidify this man's brains and ultimately kill him.
"P-please... Stop this madness- Agh!" He gurgles as he is grabbed again by the neck like a dog being picked up by the collar. He was choking on his own blood
BASH
"GOD... P-PLEASE-" he shouts
BASH
"F-FUCK! AGH!-" he shouts again, only more feebly this time
Each begging scream that came from the poor bastard's bloody maw was reduced to a gurgle, and from the gaping hole in his face, it was clear he wasn't going to survive the next impact.
BASH
... drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip
THUD
...
drip
drip
drip
The running water in the sink mixes with his blood and tears, pooling up on the tile floor below it. There is now a large, large hole where the sink counter was. The ceramic debris lay on the floor, surrounding the corpse of the now dead elder.
The trickle of water from the sink, along with the trickling of the man's blood, make for an eerie sound. It's methodical, and could easily be ignored, but under the context of that has happened, it couldn't be more morbid and stomach-knotting.
The man's head had a gaping hole in it, like a bloody, mushy crater. His eye is pushed back into his skull, blood running out of every orifice the man in black has cut for him. The gaping cut across his face extended back to his head, and so did his remaining eye, bloodshot and red.
The tile floor was now a mess of blood, fragments of brain matter and skull, loose skin, broken teeth, and raw tissue.
The man in black grabbed his face to take a look at him, feeling how loose his jaw felt in his grip. He could barely get a decent grip on him, as his jaw hung loosely attached, and it felt as if he was gripping jelly.
He observed the way the blood poured from his head, his eye now replaced with a shard of ceramic driven into it. Every part of his face was a shade of red, gory, mushy red.
His eyes trail down to a folded note that lies hidden in the man's breast pocket. His curiosity is piqued, and he decided to unfold it.
"My dearest Annabelle, my wild Irish rose."
"Standing here today, watching you marry the love of your life, fills my heart with more joy than I can put into words. As your grandfather, I've had the privilege of watching you grow—from the tiny bundle I first held in my arms, to the strong, kind, and beautiful woman standing before us."
"You've always had a light about you, a spark that draws people in and makes them feel loved. It's no surprise that Nicholas saw that light and fell in love with you. And I can see, just by the way [he/she/they] looks at you, that you've chosen someone who will cherish and honor you as you deserve."
"Marriage is a journey, not just of love, but of partnership and growth. After all my years, I can tell you this: the key to a happy life together is patience, laughter, and never forgetting the small moments—the shared smiles, the inside jokes, the quiet evenings that matter more than grand gestures."
"Seeing you so happy today is a blessing I will treasure for the rest of my days. Your grandmother and I always dreamed of moments like this, and I know she is smiling down on you today with pride and love."
"As you embark on this new chapter with Nicholas, know that my love and support will always be with you. May your days together be filled with laughter, your challenges met with understanding, and your love continue to grow deeper with each passing year."
"Congratulations, my sweet granddaughter. You've made your old grandpa so proud."
"With all my love,"
"Your Grandfather, Leon sparks."
The man finishes reading it, and his grip on it slightly tightens, crushing and deforming the heartfelt wedding tribute...
He lets out a shaky breath...
THUD
The man in black flicks his hand to flick away any brain tissue that might've remained in his gloves. Before walking out, he takes off his black gloves and tosses them in the bin, as if disposing the murder weapon.
The murder weapon was himself.
He knew he wouldn't be caught. And he knew everyone was too busy fucking around in the wedding to wonder where their old man went...
Click
Exeunt, be the man in black, oblivious to the tear that now lies on the floor. The letter Struck something in the cold, heartless assassin, a... Ja ne se quoi... Something he couldn't put his finger on...
In reality, he knew exactly what It was...
Grandpa, and his wild Irish rose