A flash fiction challenge! Yupp, I started again. Last summer I had a lot of fun participating in a weekly writing challenge (see here: http://www.flashfictionfriday.com/about/) But I sadly had to stop due to a number of time consuming things… *cough school *cough.
word count: 976
He smirked, and that was what made me pull the trigger. I can still see his face so clearly. His eyes, wide with shock as he lay at my feet. He had finally submitted, bathed in warm blood. He was pungent, metallic, so I turned away quickly. I left before hearing his final words. The bastard.
It’s almost a month later, and I finally feel safe enough to venture away from underground. New hair, new perspective, there was one loose end to tie before skipping to Canada. It was misty tonight, and the dewdrops clung to my black pull over. The earthy undertone of the night promised spring, a perfect time to cleanse my old life and start anew. No one saw me enter his second home. I was as secretive as his double life.
“Alright husband,” I whispered bitterly to myself as I let myself into the building with his spare key. “Let’s see how this tramp of yours looks like.” I had to be careful. When I opened the thick door into his clandestine apartment, I narrowly avoided stumbling. There were box-shaped forms everywhere. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, courtesy of the large bay window, I saw disarray. I assumed that the whore was also planning on leaving. Too bad.
Following the hallway, I estimated the location of the bedroom. It wasn’t hard. At the most, this was a one bedroom apartment. A tiny jingle of bells alerted me to the presence of her cat. It stared from luminescent eyes atop the windowsill, critiquing the subtlety of my movements. I breathed easy. I was relieved that Clark had never been a dog person.
When I stepped into the bedroom, I was a little unprepared. My anger had cooled some during my month of hiding, a smoulder compared to the inferno I felt when I first pulled the trigger. She was so young though.
The tiny home wreaker lay curled on one side of the massive king-sized bed, clutching a tear-soaked pillow. I could hear her quiet, restless sniffling in the still night. This child had probably cried more tears for my bastard husband than I had for my dead father. Soft golden curls decorated a fragile face. I could see why Clark would want to keep her; she screamed vulnerability. It was a trait I no longer possessed, despite his constant attempts to degrade me.
No wonder she was preparing to leave. This young fallen angel couldn’t possible afford the payments on this apartment. I doubted Clark’s generosity towards her in his will; I doubted he even mentioned her at all. She gave a restless whimper and shifted to lie on her back, her heart fully displayed. How easy it would be. The loaded weapon was ready, the silencer set, and my escape route mapped. Yet I felt the weight of my pack begin to stagger me. Was she tricked as I was? My breathing quickened and I backed out of the room. I had all night.
The adjacent room was already opened for me, and remained untouched by the home-wreakers’ hands. His pregnant study promised the hidden information my husband had kept during our entire marriage. His true character I had unraveled unfortunately too late. He was the personification of contrary. Gentle caresses one moment and then ice and indifference. Our relationship spiraled quickly into something un-retractable. But… when I reached his mahogany desk, there was a framed photo of us.
Sliding into his ergonomic chair and resting my upper body on top of the desk, I stared at us. Why did he keep this? It was taken three years ago, and the memory sparked in my mind, as vivid as the day it was crafted. It was one of those moments that could be considered timeless, for everything seemed perfect. A beautiful summer day, with youth and the excitement of love, we strolled hand in hand and gushed about our bright future.
Oh God. Are you there? Can you answer the one question that has plagued me since discovering her? That second lover, the second me that sleeps ignorant of the danger in this apartment building… What was that one moment, that one word or argument that ruined Clark and I? My hands slid into my hair, my chin touching the cool wood. Tugging, I tried to feel something other than the hatred that had consumed and ruined my sanity these past few months. What am I doing? I’m not a killer.
“Yes. Yes you are.” Startled, and raising my head, I stared at my face. A large mirror decorated the wall, reflecting the desk and the stars through the window behind me. That face spoke again.
“You pulled that trigger once, what’s to stop you a second time?”The hatred that twisted the once delicate features of my face distorted me. I was a stranger. I was evil? God. Do you exist? I had decided long ago, when the final threads of my marriage were yanked loose, that there could be no Christian God. As there was no heaven or hell, what was I to lose? I could only gain the satisfaction and respect I craved.
I sat up straight, and reached into my pack for my silver revolver. It felt heavy in my hand.
Turning back to the photo of us, a quick flash in my peripheral notified me of a second, larger frame. It was them: the bastard couple, the illegal liaison, the vixen and beast. I narrowed my eyes. How could she not have known about me? I was right beside her on this desk. She may not have been the immediate cause, but she definitely helped in our ruin. I now had a choice to make. I spun open the cylinder, and counted the rounds, wasting time.