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| Elara Posts: 5942/9736 |
Short, but good. Good imagery, though a bit fast in the description. I am sorry it didn't make it in for the competition. |
| Xeios Posts: 2829/2954 |
Irrelevant musings: All that was only 795 words :V
Once upon a time, I was a good man, a good husband, a good father. I am now buried beneath my problems. My wife, though she'd like to be called my ex-wife, is in no shape to face me. She hasn't visited, though she's thought of me, I just know it. There's no way she couldn't think of me. We were married for fifteen years, High-school sweethearts. We meant the world to one another for so long, but we drifted, wanted different things. Caught in the act, cheap hotel room, should have paid for a better one. I spent my last moments as a happily married man staring at some tacky beige wallpaper. Woman I hardly know lying naked beneath me, looking up at me with lusting eyes, legs wrapped around my waist. I think her name was Jessica. My wife, Christine, was great. She was truly my life-partner, we were to grow old together. Our two beautiful children were supposed to grow up, have children of their own, come over to Grandma and Grandpa's house, and we could spoil those children rotten. I wanted sex, not intimacy. I have more needs than companionship, more needs than love, I want my wife to touch me again. Call me a pig, call me whatever horrible insult you can imagine, I've heard it all from her. Her opinion is worth worlds more than yours. The blonde beauty on the bed moans loudly, almost loud enough to cover up the sound of the door opening. But her moans could not match the shriek of hatred let loose from the lips of my wife. I should have locked the door, what's wrong with me? The woman beneath me jumped from the bed, rushing to the bathroom with some of her clothing. Her tramp-stamp read, "Janine," I guess that's a kind way for a whore to remind the men she's sleeping with of her name. Who am I to judge? I turned and looked into my wife's tear-streamed face, her eyes red, hand over her mouth. "You bastard!" She screams, "You pig, filthy animal, scumbag!" She is just yelling insults at me now, I deserve it. "Christine, I love you," I pathetically reply. "Don't, don't you fucking dare!" My statement made her more infuriated. Tears continue running down her face, Janine is hiding in the bathroom. "How long? How long have you been doing this?" "Only a few months, what does it matter? You never touch me, it's been almost a year since you have," I defend myself, how dare she make it seem as if it's all my fault. "You sicken me, how dare you?" Tears again, these seem like tears of rage though, "How dare you bring me into your sin." "Christine, I love you, but this...This was just sex, you're the one I want to come home to at night, you're the one I want to make love to." I was still naked, for some reason I felt weird, it just didn't feel right to talk to my wife naked. Especially not while she was fully clothed. Janine was also fully clothed, and she was sneaking out of the room, the door closed behind her, leaving Christine and myself to have our argument. "Don't look at me, don't touch me, don't try to talk to me, we are done!" "You're my best friend, I love you." "Don't." She says, angrily fumbling through her purse for her keys. "I can't help how I feel, we have fifteen years together, our children deserve us trying to work this out. We deser-" "NO!" An final scream interrupts me, as well as the gunshot. Our conversation was over, she had made her decision. That tacky beige wallpaper had a spatter of red across it now, the bed too. I slump backwards, gasping for air, lying on the bed of sin. A tear ran down my cheek now, I hurt my wife so much, made her hate me to the point of killing me. Naked as the day I was born, humiliated, Christine screamed out in frustration, possibly regret. "I...love you...always." How pathetic of me, I was shot, and groveling to my killer. Aiming for some sort of redemption, that would not be found, or forgiveness, which was in short supply. My funeral was nice, tears watered the grass that day. My children cried the hardest, tears of confusion and sadness. I hate to hurt them, I wish Christine could stay her hand, I wish we had gotten divorced, at least then I could have comforted them. Told them it would be alright, I could have held them once again. They have no idea why, no comprehension of why mommy shot me, why mommy's in jail, and why they're all alone now. |
