• People come and go, like dead leaves on an autumn breeze.
    People are currency, each with their own set value.
    One measures this value based on information, on status; on faint whispers heard drifting through the streets.
    Soft tales told to build up or tear down the fortifications of a person’s existence and respectability.
    People can add to or subtract from a relationship, since relationships come and go as well.
    A father, a brother, a sister, a lover, all are fragile to the black sickle of death.
    Death is binding, in more ways than one.
    Death holds infinite finality.
    It gives and it takes, but it cannot take you from me, nor will the wayward fancies of finer things.
    Arsenic. Arsenic is a tool, a tool to bring one close.
    A tool to fortify the bonds of love, a binding, treacherous liquid of deadly and eternal commitment.
    I, Homer Barron, take you, Emily Grierson, to be my lawfully wedded wife forever.
    To have and to hold, to never leave, from this day forward, for better or for worse ( though feelings may fade), for richer or for poorer ( though father’s money dwindles) , in sickness and in health (no matter how time wears the look of age upon these pale cheeks), until death do us part ( we will be together forever).
    Yes, arsenic for hope, arsenic for love. Now you are forever mine, you cannot escape. Now, come, finish your tea and rest in my arms.