Wife N’ Death
People continue to file into the yard, as I stay hidden safely behind the curtained window. Glass crunches loudly beneath my high heels. My feet are now beginning to ache; I’ve been in them since 9 am. I part the gold-embossed curtain, feeling its silky smoothness cool upon my hot fingers. Peeking out, I see the neighbors crowding into my yard. They are jostling each other, stepping on my pansies and roses, wrecking it all.
What is wrong with these people? Do they think death eludes them?
Voices drift through the glass pane; I can hear all the inquisitive tones, but not the words. I let the curtain fall back to its natural folds. I move over the glass, and it crunches like eggshells. I look down at the once delicate glass rose that is now just colored remnants and sigh. Now is not the time for remorse over shattered things; I have bigger fish to fry.
As I walk through the dim room, I move around the tables and chairs easily; the layout is forever etched in my mind. Well… forever isn’t true. It is coming to an end soon; a single tear falls from my eye. I don’t bother to wipe it away as it leaves a cold trail down to my chin. Leaving that room with all my prized possessions would be harder than stepping over the body of the man I killed.
I feel no remorse about that; it’s funny how the mind works. I’ll miss my books and my blown glass collection, but not the man I just spent twenty-three years with. As I look down at his pale green eyes, they are already starting to cloud over. Death is a strange creature. I place my hand on his still-warm flesh. He had been full of life ten minutes ago; now nothing, a blank empty stare, almost as if he never existed. Ah, just as well. He wasn’t much of a human anyway. I move my hand over his heart; blood pooled on his shirt. My hand is now sticky, his blood matches my nails – how apropos.
Police sirens wail in the distance. I can hear people still talking outside. The gunshots had brought them running. I guess they were concerned, as we had been the perfect couple. I knew at that moment that if I ran from the house covered in blood and screaming, they would back me. I ought to say that we were attacked, and my husband was murdered. But, I want out; I am bored and tired, and just plain sick of life.
My eyes trail back to my library, and my glass collection, and I know this is where I belong. This is my home, where I was happiest – when alone. I kick off my shoes and move around the broken glass to my favorite chair. I sit back allowing the softness to envelop me; red lights flash beyond the curtains. I bring the gun up to my temple; a smile caresses my face as my finger tightens on the trigger.
Darkness swirls around me dissipating to a soft yellow light. I open my eyes, trying to remember where I was, and what had happened. A shadow suddenly blocks the light and my husband’s voice booms in my head.
“Welcome to hell bitch!”
My scream rips through the house as only a silent icy wind.
The little girl moved into her mother’s hip, burying her face amongst the soft ruffles of her skirt, as her mother put away the dishes in their new home.
She whimpered, “I don’t like it here mommy.”