He knew he was in trouble the moment he walked in the door. His wife stood there, arms crossed. She wanted to know where he had been. He wouldn’t lie to her. She would know. She knew him all too well.
He opened mouth to speak. She immediately stepped forward, slapping him hard across the face before he could even get any words out.
That was her mistake. She should have just went with the flow. He’d never harmed her. Even when she found out his secret, he’d never harmed her, always keeping her away from it. Yes, they moved around a lot, and she hated it, but he kept her hands cleaned.
Things escalated quickly. She should have just let well enough alone. Why couldn’t she just do that? She had indulged him in his activities for so long now. Yes, they angered her, but she left him to it. She should have just kept silent, kept her hands to herself, and let it go, cooling down for a few days. Erupting like that after the night he’d had was a monumental mistake.
After she had struck him, he stopped being himself. He let the ‘other’ surface.
When he came to from his blackout again, there he was, disposing of another body. At first he hadn’t realized it was his own wife, but her wedding band had fallen off. He wanted to cry for her. He couldn’t. She had brought this on herself. She knew he held a monster inside that woke from time to time, and it had a need. He had fed that need. And now, so had she.
Wednesday, July 22, 2015
Hunger: A short story
This was a first sentence starter. I’m not too thrilled with it. It seems to meander and go no where, and lacks any real imagination in my opinion. Perhaps someday I will revisit it and give it a revision, or total re-write.