The Story of How I Lost My Late Wife

"Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most."  Mark Twain

White car. Black car. Green car. White again. Black again. Green... what a funny coincidence. All I have to do now is to replace the broken window with a new one, finish covering up the holes in the walls, change a couple of floor tiles and we're done! Well... I'm done. Guess it's hard losing old habits, eh? Scuze my lack of introduction:
I'm 49 and I was told that I'm losing my minds. The reason I am so calm right now is that I am being help hostage in my very own apartment and I am being kept under a heavy dosage of... well, drugs. The reason I shouldn't be so calm is that up to three days ago, my wife, the person who I have been sharing my life with for the past twenty years, has been brutally and violently murdered in our... sorry, my own apartment. Two days ago, the police investigation rendered my testimonials as absurd as there has been no body discovered or recovered, no signs of violence or murderous acts, no blood - only a very "badly kept" apartment. Furthermore, they discovered that I don't even have a wife, no record of any marriage what so ever. Imagine this: me, on the floor, consuming every fluid in my body weeping, crying and mourning my loss, shouting desperately and feeling my heart break at the thought of all the memories we've had, all the moments together and, most importantly, my love lying there, fading away. Enter police, body is tagged, photographed and bagged, an interrogation is undergone, exit police. Next day, no murder, no body, no wife. But no blood? I have been scrubbing it off the floor for a whole night. I've thrown my clothes straight into the washing machine, soaking with blood. Dry blood on my hands, on my forehead. No bullets? Just choose a hole, any hole you see in these walls. Anyways, this brings us yesterday. I don't remember all the jibberish talk, but the doctor has been pretty clear about it. I'm mad as a raging bull. Tons of prescriptions and 24 hours surveillance by a male nurse at residence.Which brings us today. They say I've imagined myself a fancy life, garnished with a pretty little wife of mine. That's why I choose to ignore them, that's why I choose to ignore the nurse. It's like he doesn't even exist. He often gets annoyed by this. I should offer him some of my medicine. I'm breathing her perfume, I'm hearing her gentle whispers, I can see her in my dreams and in my memories, I can feel the sorrow and sadness in my heart. Though here I am, calm and lucid as if nothing had happened. Nothing more could matter right now, could it? To my left, the broken window through which the dry wind of summer brings a stench of decaying corpse. To my left, the nurse. It's either the hard way out, or the easy way in. I watch the nurse for the very first time. I pierce his eyes with my eyes, staring right into his soul.
"Do you want to dine out tonight, honey?" I ask.
He takes out a syringe and a leather belt with a most sadistic and satisfied smile.