Start Fiction:
I walked into the living room, raised my rifle, aimed and fired. The television exploded, sparks flew back across the room as shards of glass and plastic pelted my front side. I didn't care. Nothing could hurt more than what I saw on that screen; the betrayal, deceit, infidelity.
I stared at the television as it smoldered, burned much like my mind. Then it hit me: Why did I shoot the television and not the VCR player? I guess It didn't matter. One less thing I'd have to move when I left. And from the faint sound of the sirens, I wouldn't be moving for several days, at least. I looked down at my shotgun, pumped it sending a shell on to the floor. Standing in the living room, loaded weapon in my hands, I wondered if they would shoot me if I walked out the front door holding it to my shoulder.
No, that's not how it's going down. I was not going to be just be another statistic; a crazy, scorned, jealous husband gone of the deep end killed by police. Where would be the fairness in that? She'd get everything, the sympathy of being a widow and no one would ever know she was a cheap, skanky common unfaithful whore. No, I wasn't going to let that happen.
I threw the shotgun on the couch and opened the front door as screeching tires entered the neighborhood. As expected, nosy neighbors were standing in their doorways, peeking out windows, but I just calmly walked out to the front steps and sat down. I wasn't wasn't going to give the police a reason to use force. I just had to be patient, calm. Revenge had lodged in the front of my mind, everything else was secondary.
That bitch was going to pay.
End Fiction.
No comments:
Post a Comment