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Red and white dotted fabric. I spin around in my chic new dress. My husband kisses me goodbye. I iron out the clothes. Stitch. Sew. Cut. Pull. Warm, homecooked meals. We dine as a tune from our youth plays on the radio. He places a rose on my empty plate. I smile. Thimbles coat my fingers. I stick pins in fabric and sew it up together. I feel a thud in my stomach. I iron out the clothes. He welcomes me home with gifts. My baby boy is fast asleep. My husband is slowly coming home later and later. He hasn't noticed the holes in my arm. I drink another shot, smiling at my sleepy baby boy. My husband isn't home. I pop my pills. And I iron out the clothes. The medicine isn't working anymore. I can't stop his screaming. Shut up. Shut that child up. My husband is yelling at me. What did I do wrong? He tears my new dress. I iron out the clothes. My baby won't stop crying. Stop, please. My husband is never home. My head hurts. I throw the pills down the drain. I shakily brandish a knife. I breathe. And iron out the clothes. Crimson splattered across walls. An old tune from our youth plays on the radio. My husband isn't breathing. My baby boy stopped crying. I feed my child and put him to sleep. I sleep. I spin around in my green and white polka dotted dress. The fabric tearing at the seams. I iron out the clothes. The fabric. The rope. I leave a rose next to my child and stand up. This necklace fits perfectly. I take a bow in front of the mirror. Don't I look pretty? I kick the furniture. Dancing midair. My hair falls to my face. I iron out the
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Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC
housewife.
Red and white dotted fabric. I spin around in my chic new dress. My husband kisses me goodbye. I iron out the clothes. Stitch. Sew. Cut. Pull. Warm, homecooked meals. We dine as a tune from our youth plays on the radio. He places a rose on my empty plate. I smile. Thimbles coat my fingers. I stick pins in fabric and sew it up together. I feel a thud in my stomach. I iron out the clothes. He welcomes me home with gifts. My baby boy is fast asleep. My husband is slowly coming home later and later. He hasn't noticed the holes in my arm. I drink another shot, smiling at my sleepy baby boy. My husband isn't home. I pop my pills. And I iron out the clothes. The medicine isn't working anymore. I can't stop his screaming. Shut up. Shut that child up. My husband is yelling at me. What did I do wrong? He tears my new dress. I iron out the clothes. My baby won't stop crying. Stop, please. My husband is never home. My head hurts. I throw the pills down the drain. I shakily brandish a knife. I breathe. And iron out the clothes. Crimson splattered across walls. An old tune from our youth plays on the radio. My husband isn't breathing. My baby boy stopped crying. I feed my child and put him to sleep. I sleep. I spin around in my green and white polka dotted dress. The fabric tearing at the seams. I iron out the clothes. The fabric. The rope. I leave a rose next to my child and stand up. This necklace fits perfectly. I take a bow in front of the mirror. Don't I look pretty? I kick the furniture. Dancing midair. My hair falls to my face. I iron out the
the beginning.
#death#dying#dead#60s#sixties#housewife#housewives#suicide
wuxian
Written by
wuxian
21
Dec 16, 2017
Dec 16, 2017 at 2:33 PM UTC
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