Matter At Hand

After being gone a long time, focusing on school, I decided to divulge into new fields of writing that I had never tried before. This is riddled with dark subject matter, vulgarity, and humanity.

The house was burning down, beams shattering to the ground.  The embers were rising above the black, as the heroic men and women fought to stop this fire from spreading. The police were there holding the neighborhood back, and the news stations flocked around, vultures to this carnage. 

"Ma'am, get a load of this," one cameraman said to Joan, a s****y news anchor on a dying channel.

"Dear whomever finds this letter,

I dropped the keys just outside of the door.  I stood there before I going in.  I regret coming home.  That moment the sun goes down behind those eucalyptus trees, towering in front of the James' house, is the only moment I have peace.  There the sun went.

I entered my own house, the lights dim and dinner waiting, dropped my load, and sat down.  She must not have heard me come in.  I sat for a moment to recoup, however I wanted to embrace my wife. I stumbled to the hall, the day my drug, and the hallucinations of my life pushing me back and forth, like a rag doll against the walls.  The light was on in the studio room, so there I went.  And there she was.

And there SHE was.

Now I remember the exact order of what I saw from beginning to that end.  I opened the door, still sluggish and exhausted, but I managed.  Her Leopard garments were on the floor, her jeans right beside the opening to the door, and her shirt was thrown by the easels in the corner.  Her computer was open on the desk across the room, and the futon faced it.  She was moaning.  I thought she was sick, so I went to her.  Red hair peaked over the top of the cushion as I came closer, and she was heaving back and forth.

I thought to reach out and stroke her hair, but I could not.  I took that last step, and witnessed something  I could never un-witness.  Her legs were sprawled out completely--an ankle on each armrest.  Her milky skin was glistening in beads of sweat as she swayed to and fro, dancing a dance she hadn't in years.

Her hands were where I focused.  I had never felt rage in my bones before, like a sun burning the inside of me, until I saw in her hands my best friend, my loyal comrade, and my dog.  She held Marina in her hands, as she snacked on the sweet of my wife, while my wife bobbed in bliss, unaware at the atrocity I had seen.  The one that slept beside me when my wife and I would fight, the one that had been there for years and years when my wife was away on business, and the one that I held in the thunderstorms and rain just to soothe a fearful heart, was there with the one I thought would never cheat, let alone cheat in this manner.

My mind was a glass window, cracking with every ooh and aah.  I envisioned her with her doctor, her assistant, the neighbor or his son.  I saw her with my colleagues, her boss, my brother or my pastor.  I could have seen her with her fitness instructor, a woman with the most prominent jawline I've ever seen.  My mind even allowed me to see her with her own brother and I would have accepted that, but Marina and my wife.  It was that moment that I saw her computer was recording this encounter over a live site of some sort--it was that moment that I could no longer see. 

Her hair was soft, but the clumps of skin were wet, under my fingernails.  She was screaming something, and I remember calmly declaring that no sorry could cut it.  I felt her cheek break as I caved it in.  She squirmed when I picked her up.  She was still screaming apologetically when I threw her in the corner.  Her face hit the floor.  Before she could turn up to me with those beautiful brown eyes, I dropped the weight of the universe on her, concentrated on the temple, a soufflé to my cravings, and bag of meat to my mallet.  I pulled my foot from her red mess, and I stared down Marina.  I lunged and held her, spinning her neck more and more until I she shrieked and fought.  Perhaps she thought this was a game, but I held her, edging and edging closer to the brink.  Finally she cracked.  Her fur was so soft and beautiful.  She dangled off my lap.  Why was she with her?

I placed my only friend onto the futon, and stroked her head lightly.  I will miss her.  I grabbed the b***h on the floor by hair, and dragged her into the back yard.  She didn't deserve the ring I gave her, so I took that as well, and spit on her wretched body. 

Marina was so still, and so gentle.  She was the only thing that I enjoyed coming home to.  I turned off the lights, but there was still one on behind me--the computer.  The computer captured the whole thing.  As I approached the lens, I stared in awe at the catalog of videos my wife had recorded.  There were hundreds, dating back to before we were married, when it was her and my first dog Suzy.

Finding the gas switch was easy enough, and breaking the pipes was less so.  I've sent the video to every news station around, as well as the police.  I'm going to nail this letter to the tree out front, so you understand why this happened.  No court would ever side with me, no jury would find reason to allow me my freedom.  You and I live in this world  that will never be healed.  We are monsters.  She was a woman born with a cheating heart, and embraced by those indecent enough to stop it.  I was always there for her, always am, and would have always been.  I am compassionate, temperamental, loving, dedicated, but I could never abide by this.  In this moment I am greater than her.  I am justice.  You may do what you wish with this letter, but I ask you one last thing--would you do anything differently?"

Joan neatly folded the letter, and held it close to her bosom. "No," she whispered as she wept.

No

Author's Note

I'm using this to provoke images in your head that you're not comfortable with. I'm just experimenting with this. I rushed this story, so excuse minor grammatical issues, that can always be fixed in a rewrite, I want this to be the type of story that starts discussion, so please start a discussion. Tell me what bothered you, what you enjoyed, whether or not the character is correct or if it's immoral. Please take your time and respond, please.

Reviews

[wordman]

well this is a hell of a story would make a great book