Jun 2018
(Short Story)
The questions burned inside of me
searing through my guts to my core
leaving a trail of ash through this house
treating my blood like gasoline
smoke rising to my head
melting my brain
Down to this;
One question -
Did he do it?
I could hear my heart beating and watched the hairs on my skin shake a little from the rumble of its thunder.
I asked this question to myself over and over. First, in disbelief. Not letting the facts in front of me fully sink in. But as hours passed, the question began to change and I began to see the woman in the mirror staring back at me a little bit differently.
We’ve almost been here. Time and again. This place of such uncertainty and unknown. But never this close. Not here where we are today. I poured a glass of wine and kept the channel 3 tv on mute. Leaned against the cabinets and granite counter top in the kitchen. I put my head down. Starting at the residue of water stains on the glass that I had chosen. These water stains are disrupting my peace, I thought. Just another flaw in this house that nobody else sees. Infidelity allegations, sleepless nights, bedroom fights, and now this?
I put the glass down, found my way slowly in my Saint Laurent Swarovski crystal-embellished satin pumps through the dim, echoing hallway to the den. My place for morning light and his for evening company and cigars. I looked all around, starring at every wall. Flashbacks of us stripping down, him gripping my waist as he thrusted inside of me while I held on to these walls for stability. A house that has seen many things. If these walls could speak I may not believe their stories.
But this story, is difficult to disbelieve. Not revealed from walls, but through the power of the news media crew. Unfolding and developing stories ringing in my ears. Like high frequency waves making me dizzy. The story of Anna. The last breath she took and the last person to see her alive. The man they believe to be her lover. A quiet man, intuitive, logical and a realist. A hard working, loving and devoted family man. My husband, Oliver. Now under the authoritative custody of the Mipson county sheriff department, as a prime suspect for the ****** of Miss Anna B Delaney.
Details of the scene have not yet been released so it is still unclear and most inconceivable to imagine what happened to Anna.
The questions burned inside of me
searing through my guts to my core
leaving a trail of ash through this house
treating my blood like gasoline
smoke rising to my head
melting my brain
Down to this;
One question -
Did he do it?
I could hear my heart beating and watched the hairs on my skin shake a little from the rumble of its thunder.
I asked this question to myself over and over. First, in disbelief. Not letting the facts in front of me fully sink in. But as hours passed, the question began to change and I began to see the woman in the mirror staring back at me a little bit differently.
We’ve almost been here. Time and again. This place of such uncertainty and unknown. But never this close. Not here where we are today. I poured a glass of wine and kept the channel 3 tv on mute. Leaned against the cabinets and granite counter top in the kitchen. I put my head down. Starting at the residue of water stains on the glass that I had chosen. These water stains are disrupting my peace, I thought. Just another flaw in this house that nobody else sees. Infidelity allegations, sleepless nights, bedroom fights, and now this?
I put the glass down, found my way slowly in my Saint Laurent Swarovski crystal-embellished satin pumps through the dim, echoing hallway to the den. My place for morning light and his for evening company and cigars. I looked all around, starring at every wall. Flashbacks of us stripping down, him gripping my waist as he thrusted inside of me while I held on to these walls for stability. A house that has seen many things. If these walls could speak I may not believe their stories.
But this story, is difficult to disbelieve. Not revealed from walls, but through the power of the news media crew. Unfolding and developing stories ringing in my ears. Like high frequency waves making me dizzy. The story of Anna. The last breath she took and the last person to see her alive. The man they believe to be her lover. A quiet man, intuitive, logical and a realist. A hard working, loving and devoted family man. My husband, Oliver. Now under the authoritative custody of the Mipson county sheriff department, as a prime suspect for the ****** of Miss Anna B Delaney.
Details of the scene have not yet been released so it is still unclear and most inconceivable to imagine what happened to Anna.
