Yellow Is The Happiest Color - A Short Story

I could still see him everywhere. In my sleep, while eating, watching TV - everywhere. It has been over 24 hours since I buried him in my backyard, but his screams and thoughts haunt me every second of my life. Although I tried my best to get rid of all the gifts he gave me, my house was still filled with yellow color walls, centerpieces, furniture, and whatnot. “Yellow is the happiest color”, he’d say. However, I thought it was best to leave things as it is until his case is closed by the investigators who thought he either left me or was abducted. 

I barely socialized with my neighbors or had any friends, but he was the complete opposite. He had enough friends and enemies because of his widely controversial family-owned conglomerate. I was always a black color lover (he hated black, or as he'd say it, "life is too yellow to be black"). My house was my safe space but he changed everything and I could barely recognize my home or myself anymore. “I am tired of black. Yellow is the happiest color, you know? Just one more patch of wall left to turn yellow”, he said to me while I stared blankly at my dark yet magnificently colored wall. Before I could even defend it, he had already begun painting. “I’ve had enough”, I said that night while he sat there watching television. He was tired of black and I was tired of him. We got into a heated argument and I ended his life by hammering his skull with the yellow paint brush. I’d be lying if I said I don’t miss him, of course I do, but there’s only a certain limit until one can tolerate someone else’s a million “Yellow is the happiest color” statements. Everything else around you becomes so colorful at a point in time, that you become devoid of colors. 

Just when I thought everything was going well with the case and the cops had no choice but to close it, a neighbor told the cop that her dog found a yellow shoe stained with blood, dumped in a garbage can at the end of the street. There goes my 28th complaint to the municipality to clean the street’s garbage regularly. At this point, the cops were sure that there was a possible murder and it was in this area. Many of his friends and his own family lived in the same area which was the only silver lining. Nevertheless, I was an obvious suspect.

I had to act hastily before anyone could get the slightest clue about what had happened. Not so long after the shoe incident, the cops dug deeper into the dump yard and found an empty black cardholder…also covered in blood. Thankfully, it was empty because I had left my cards outside to dry after it was drenched in blood but I was stupid enough to dispose of the cardholder. The investigators went on a heavy search to find out who the cardholder belonged to. I searched through my things to find something that could help me get out of this mess, and there it was! A suede yellow leather cardholder that he gifted me on my last birthday. Of course, he didn't care about what I liked. When the cops showed up at my doorstep, their search began in the whole house and they assumed that I liked yellow as much as he did since everything I owned was in yellow. Soon enough, I saw them arresting Jack Ville, the only guy who loved black as much as me and was my late boyfriend’s long-time nemesis. As I turned around and saw my living room covered in yellow, I wasn’t annoyed anymore.