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The Bitches

28 Apr

He sat at the kitchen table, head in hands, staring at the weeks of trash strewn around the backyard. The coffee, now long cold, had done little to ease the residue of the alcoholic drums in his head and his anger and frustration were already starting to build in crescendo.  “It’s all her damn fault”, he thought. “Her, and that damn dog are the cause of this shit. Both of um lazy-ass bitches.” Though he had been out of work for what seemed like ages and now was just too damn lazy to even pretend to job-hunt, everything always fell back on her. It was the only way he could embrace the sliver of sanity that remained in him. The bill collectors, no food in the house, having to sell his precious gun collection and having scrape by on a day to day basis; all of it, her fault, her fault, her fault…..and now, the damn dog. In his perpepitual state of upside-down rational, if he could ever get the haze to clear just a bit, well, he was gonna just kill that damn dog.

The last of his guns also sat at the table. The silver 38 with the ivory handle. It was his favorite. His daddy had given it to him when he was just a boy and he had refused to sell it with the rest. He loved that gun…loved it more than her and for sure, loved it more than that damn dog. ” Bitches both of them” rolled through his pea brain once again. . That mantra had been with him for several weeks now and he was unaware of the momentum of potential action that it was beginning to create within him.

He picked up the revolver and lovingly turned it over in his hand. “Bitches….one of them has got to go.”

She watched him from the shadows of the living room. Twice she had started into the kitchen, and twice she had felt the cold shimmer of fear run down her back. She was just flat worn out. The cruel weeks of having nothing but problems appear at every turn had turned into months of frustration for her as well. She did what she could, trying her level best to put a spin on what little positiveness could be found, but she knew it was just a matter of time. Her sanity would have been gone long ago if it were not for the dog. The bitch. She had appeared out of nowhere and was the only thing that provided any warmth and love in the now stark and scary place in which she found her soul. The dog was the one friend that remained in her now cold and unrelenting world and she knew in her heart that if something were to happen to it, the last straw would be broken.

She knew how he felt and also was aware that at any moment it would come to a head. The dogs feelings towards him was mutual, and if anything set him off, it was continued rejection. Running interference had been successful thus far, but somehow today, there was something different in the air.

She bolstered her shoulders and stepped over the threshold into the kitchen. Taking her place at the table, she stretched out her hands towards the gun. He glared up at her with a malice she had not seen before and when the hairs on the back of her neck rose, she knew…she just knew.

Today was going to be the day and in her mind, a glaring flash of insight brought a instantaneous and calming resignation, “Not the dog… Please not the dog…..choose me, choose me…….”

_______Writers Wednesday
1(Trash) 2 ( Twice)

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Posted by on April 28, 2010 in Quick Fiction

 

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