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Short Stories Miscellaneous Stories Split Seconds and Poison Emotions
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Split Seconds and Poison EmotionsThis story may contain adult content. |
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| Written by Nate Stanford | |
| Monday, 05 May 2008 | |
Shutting the door behind me, I throw the bag of groceries onto the kitchen counter and take a gulp of the Classic flavored energy drink. I was starting to think I should have gotten the Grape. Celia would be downstairs in a moment, probably to complain about me slamming the door. Frankly, I didn't care, but she acted like the door was our child, the one we never could have. It was crucial that we devoted ourselves to make this marriage work, but it wasn't working out as we had planned.
Tommorow, I won't come back, damnit. I won't come back. I'll grab a hotel room, Celia will be out of my life forever.
The stomping of her feet are audible within the moment, just as I sat down to watch television.
"Cory! Did you slam the door again?"
"What the fuck do you care..." I mumbled.
"Its two in the morning! You woke me up!"
"Did you need your beauty sleep?" I mimicked her. It was something she said back when we were dating. I said it very obnoxiously.
"Damnit, Cory. And for the record, I was waiting awake. For you to get home. Do you plan on wasting your life at the pub forever? If this marriage is going to work, you have to commit. I work two jobs..."
"Yes, I do plan on wasting my life at the pub. Its the only place that you won't stray to."
"If you want me gone so bad, divorce me! Fucking divorce me, Cory." she was in tears now. I was absorbed with the television, its pixels were never more beautiful. "Cory..." she whined, "You said you loved me. Back in college. You said you would love me forever Cory...were you lying to me?"
"Of course I was. I was a drunk in college, all I cared about was the sex." I yelled at her, sarcastically. Promptly, I got up, strode out the door. I didn't know where I was going. Away from her. Two weeks later, I checked out, hoping Celia had calmed down. We lost contact completely. A complete apology was coming my way, I could smell it in the air.
Tissues littered the floor, the furniture was knocked over. Nothing of mine was safe, all of it destroyed; ripped to pieces, as if a wild animal had been released in there. A piece of the ceiling fan was snapped off the ceiling, a strand of rope still attatched to it, Celia's cold body lying next to it. Life was such a fragile thing, and I didn't even say goodbye. I could feel her spirit above me, pressuring me to do the same. A blood stained knife, still wet from slashing Celia's wrist; ending her life, was the sole tool in ending my own. My eyes went different directions, one facing the door that I had always dreamed of, the other facing Celia, whom I had loved. Both of the contrasting sights were players in this game. It was too late, and I never uttered a single word of apology.
It was all my fault.
Comments (2) |
 05-06-2008 13:43, Eh. I have a problem with suicide stories because I always feel jipped out of an ending. The characters were rigid. The only choice during the whole story was that she put up with him instead of killing herself. Creating choices is what creates tension, and ultimately, the desire to read. Besides from the negative, the sentences were put together well and it was a smooth read. I'd work on the ability to create a story with many dynamics, maybe too many to start so you can get the idea. Keep on keeping on. CS. » Reply to this comment...  05-08-2008 15:10, Typical marraige of young people.....wait till you're in your thirties people. A little drastic measure after an argument, but i like your style....and for the record, I like suicide stories,,,they can be intense. Good story. » Reply to this comment... |
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