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Monday, March 27

Ingrate

"Ingrate"
Short Fiction - Crime
by Thomas Cannon

I hold the pillow over her face tight, but my adrenaline makes me bend my elbows and push down harder. Her body twists underneath me, but I am sitting on her pelvic bone so that all my weight traps her.

All the arguments I had with Laurie, my ex-wife, are running through my head. I can hear her voice every time she told me I needed to start giving her a hand at home. Her voice would go through my head like an arrow from a compound bow. The arrow stuck there the last time I came home drunk and she told me she was leaving me.

The grasping hands have found mine and they try to pry up on them. The diamond engagement ring I gave her, something I had felt pressured by Laurie to get in the first place, is twisted around her finger and draws a line of blood on my hand. Her nails dig into me now, evidence for the police, but it does not make me flinch.

I was already seeing this beautiful girl from one of my stores. A girl that was young and firm and appreciated who I was. I had dreamed of being with someone like her my whole life. So getting kicked out of my own house just meant I could stop sneaking around.

Still, it got my goat the way, after berating me over spending money on boats and cars for our whole marriage, Laurie refused to take any money in the divorce. I don’t need anything from you except no more grief, she had said. Every time I had to talk to her, she mocked me for taking up with a mere girl. She wanted to know what we could talk about. Well, we didn’t have to talk about how I am a terrible husband and father, my wife‘s favorite topic. With the girl, our biggest discussions were on where I was going to take her to dinner.

I grunt and put all my weight in crushing the pillow over her face until her weak attempts at struggling stop. I know I have ruined everything. I will never get to see my kids again. The bitch of it all is that I don’t why I have done this. Just a few moments ago, my girl was snuggled up against me, talking. She couldn’t stop talking about getting married, and the honeymoon we could go on and the cute outfits she would take along. She never wanted to leave my side. She promised she would never get fat. She would give me two kids. For my part, I looked at her and realized that she was one of the few women that would keep her word and never change.

I am exhausted now. The rage I felt that had been building up has emptied out. I remove the pillow. Finally she is quiet; still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever touch with these two hands.

5 reactions:

Kelly Parra said...

Thomas, this piece would be awesome in a thriller novel. Good getting inside this character's head. Gave me the chills!! Thanks for sharing with FM! =D

stay_c said...

Tom, you sneak!

I love this piece. Thanks for getting it out here!

Bethany K. Warner said...

Yes this one is creepy... Why are murders the topic of the year for us writing these short short stories?

Jeff said...

Good and creepy. Thanks for sharing, Thomas. :)

jason evans said...

Such a great mix of the uncomfortable (description of the death struggle) and compassion for the character! Well done.