A husky rattle creaked from his voicebox every time he took a breath, and each time she heard it, she thought it would be his last.
“I’ve been lying to you,” he wheezed. “For years.”
She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter now.” And she meant it.
“It does. You have to know.”
She stroked his cheek and waited for him to go on.
He took a long, squeaking breath in. “I… I don’t think Queens of the Stone Age are the greatest band in the world. Never have done.”
She laughed. “That’s okay, love.”
He furrowed his brow, exaggerating the deep wrinkles which marked his skin. “Is it?”
“Of course. What a daft thing to have lied about for all these years! I won’t hold it against you, you know. We can disagree about things. We have done quite a lot over the past few decades, right? And we’ve got through it.”
“So… who do you really think is the greatest band in the world?” she asked, smiling at him.
Her smile evaporated. She snatched her fingers away from his cheek. “Really?”
He nodded. “That’s why I left it until my deathbed to tell you.”
She couldn’t look at him. Instead, she gazed around the room until her eyes landed on the spare pillow which lay innocently at the end of the bed, beside his feet. She leaned towards it, snatched it up, and held it over his face.
He was too weak to struggle.
“Dirty, filthy liar,” she muttered, as she checked for his lack of pulse. “He knew I hated fucking Coldplay.”
I write one new story each week inspired by a random song from my Spotify library. This week it was 3’s and 7’s by Queens of the Stone Age (who happen to be the greatest band in the world…).