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Photo by Heather M. Edwards on Unsplash
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Photo by ian dooley on Unsplash
“Careful honey, the revolver is loaded,” he said as he made a drink for himself in a hotel suite.
“Is this for your wife?”
“No! I think I will hire someone to do that, do you know any hit-man we can trust?”
“Me?”
He smirked as he sat next to her caressing her back and taking a sip from his drink.
“I wonder who hires a lady hit man?”
“Your loving wife!”
She shot him dead on the spot.
“Oh yes, a lady hit man indeed can!"
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Photo by Nik MacMillan on Unsplash
Encased by the white tiles all around her, in an enormous room with so many washers, makes her weary. She shows up, each day, every single day of the year, at the same time and leaves at half-past five. She loads the insatiable machines, begrudging every minute lost. Sodden dresses, mismatched booties, soiled pajamas, red leotards, mud-stained soccer shorts, soccer-socks, pinafores, stained uniforms, skirts, jeans, sweaters, trousers.
Eventually, she dwindls her efforts, washing only max of two loads on a given day, and cudgels her brains speculating why her days are painfully long now!
©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, explore my other poems/flash fiction stories.
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At half-past 2 a.m, Jen woke up and stumbled into her own bed. Normally Bruce came crawling into her bed at dawn, falling asleep beside her for a few hours. But this morning her bed was empty. She thought of food, before looking for Bruce. A remainder, her body worked hard, as she slept through the night. She heard a distant sound of his voice, a sound of cry broke out. Jen raced towards the garden where she was startled, to see Bruce had hurt his tiny fingers, trying to plant new saplings like her dad did, while he had visited them.
She realized, how helpful it was to have her dad around. Bruce spent time with her dad outdoors, playing in the garden and splashing water from the bucket, or searching for worms underneath as her dad dug up soil for planting. With someone to keep Bruce engaged until dusk, let her a lot of time to be alone. The me-time she longed since she had Bruce and with her husband traveling most of the time it was a far fetched dream.
©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
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Photo by Can Ahtam on Unsplash
The phone rang piercing through the stillness of the first flush of morning. Justin arises from the bed with a sudden pounding in his heart as his phone rings.
He knew it was his father before answering the call; there was no one else who would have called him before nine. He has not spoken to his father in several weeks. He was visiting his parents, his paternal grandparents back in Eswatini.
As he answered the phone, it left him scandalized and the phone hanging by the cord. He did not expect his dad to break such a piece of news to him. Justin’s thoughts take him down the memory lane to his mother’s loving memories. The wish for her to be here fills him with such rage and bitterness that his brain could explode. His dad called to tell him, he has a stepmother and a stepbrother who was about ten, fourteen years younger to him.
©Shweta, 2020. All Rights Reserved.
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Photo by Marcos Paulo Prado on Unsplash It’s published. My writing has been published. I have only published in Medium publica...
