For years I dreamt desperately, passionately of escape. Had it always been as simple as just walking out the front door?
There’s little sense in trying to ration with a barking Yorkie. No way to explain to her that this time, the man she’s grown accustomed to looking out for every evening at a quarter past six isn’t coming back.
The day they had betrothed themselves to one another, Gabe was inebriated, having taken a handful of the little blue pills he had grown to adore more than even his next meal or breath.
So this unfortunate ending, sitting across from the love of his life signing papers issued by her attorney, The Great Neuterer, seemed the fitting finale to the union he had taken for granted for the last time.
He studied her face, thinking how beautiful she was, and thought of all the nights he had left her alone, frantic with worry, while he caroused with his friends. After several minutes, he dialed the number, and with tears rolling down his cheeks, said, “I’d like to report a suicide.”
Heart heavy, shoulders slumped, he opened the front door. After crossing the threshold, with the mistake he made tormenting his soul, he shut the door on his past and his future.
Five trains, three hours, and a dozen busy signals sat behind him, as he collected his dignity and headed for the parking lot. “She wins again,” he muttered into a blackberry, canceling the week he’d planned for himself and his 9 yr old daughter.
I caught his eye just before he jumped in front of the bus; he smiled knowingly and threw me his breifcase. Inside were divorce papers and a woman’s severed hand wearing a beautiful wedding ring.
It would be so easy to slit my wrists, to put a loaded gun in my mouth and squeeze the trigger, to drop a live toaster into my bath.
But I just can’t bring myself to give that fucking bitch that much satisfaction.
I wasn’t lying when I told him I didn’t dance with another man. But he didn’t ask me if I kissed one.
It’s been fun babe, but sorry. Your best friend deserves his wife’s fidelity.
My first marriage was a mistake. And it still is.
I’m free; what have I done?
This dichotomous thought occurred to the knife-wielding man as he stood over his newly murdered wife’s corpse, wondering what he should do next.