RobertM
New Member
I have about a hundred and fifty of these flash stories in a file. They are for a possible book next year.
This is one of them.
Anything to get him out of the damn house, she thought.
She scrubbed the sink to hospital white and carefully rinsed it before blotting it dry with a clean towel.
Her heart beat faster now. It was dark.
He would be coming home soon.
He never stayed out after dark on Sundays. Work was Monday, and he always showed.
He’s been gone the whole weekend this time. And I’m not picking off the stupid feathers from those birds. No one ever eats the damn things anyway, they’re all full of birdshot.
She shut off the hot water on the sink tap and dried the faucet with a towel.
Truck. He’s home.
She listened and waited for him to come into the house. If he came in quick, that meant he probably wasn’t drunk.
A couple of minutes passed. The bang of the truck door shook the house windows until they rattled.
Too long. Way too long.
The door crashed open and her husband filled the doorway with broad shoulders and drunken anger. “What’s funny? Sumpin’ funny?” he slurred. “Come here, bitch…”
She reached behind the door dividing the living room and the kitchen and picked up the shotgun, leveling it.
The resounding blast threw him into the corner. He died with a look of utter surprise on his face.
She touched her swollen eye. “No more. Not ever.”
The End
This is one of them.
Anything to get him out of the damn house, she thought.
She scrubbed the sink to hospital white and carefully rinsed it before blotting it dry with a clean towel.
Her heart beat faster now. It was dark.
He would be coming home soon.
He never stayed out after dark on Sundays. Work was Monday, and he always showed.
He’s been gone the whole weekend this time. And I’m not picking off the stupid feathers from those birds. No one ever eats the damn things anyway, they’re all full of birdshot.
She shut off the hot water on the sink tap and dried the faucet with a towel.
Truck. He’s home.
She listened and waited for him to come into the house. If he came in quick, that meant he probably wasn’t drunk.
A couple of minutes passed. The bang of the truck door shook the house windows until they rattled.
Too long. Way too long.
The door crashed open and her husband filled the doorway with broad shoulders and drunken anger. “What’s funny? Sumpin’ funny?” he slurred. “Come here, bitch…”
She reached behind the door dividing the living room and the kitchen and picked up the shotgun, leveling it.
The resounding blast threw him into the corner. He died with a look of utter surprise on his face.
She touched her swollen eye. “No more. Not ever.”
The End