She smiled as she looked at her creation. She had really done it.
Who would have thought? The floor was covered with dead bodies. And blood. The
walls were beautifully painted in arbitrary patterns of blood spatter. The song
had ended. She had never seen the store so quiet and still. She closed her eyes.
A metallic smell; she could almost taste it: gunpowder and blood.
I
She opened her eyes. It was a beautiful morning, not a magpie in the
sky. The red numbers of her alarm clock showed 06.03. She could stay in bed for
another half an hour, but she had to wake her kids up. And breakfast had to be
made.
Her loving husband
was still sound asleep. She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek and then she left
bedroom on her toes. In the bathroom she picked up her toothbrush and started
brushing her teeth. In the mirror, a woman in her early 40’s looked back at her
as she brushed her teeth with slow, careful strokes. She was sleepy, but she
knew that she would feel better after a cup of coffee. I’m so lucky, she
thought. I have everything I ever wanted. A loving husband, two sweet little
daughters and a beautiful house.
She did her
make-up. She normally just applied a bit of foundation and mascara. She didn’t
care much for make-up. But women wore make-up and she was a woman. Putting on
make-up was like shaving her legs and armpits. It was somewhat bothersome, but,
other women did it and so did she. When she was finished, she took a final
glance at herself. Her highlighted auburn hair framed her face. She wore
glasses, and the colour of the frames subtly matched the colour of her hair.
It was time to wake
her oldest daughter.
Knock. Knock. “It’s
time to wake up!”
“Go away!”
She went to her younger
daughter’s room.
“It’s time to wake
up,” she said as she softly knocked on the door.
No reply.
“Sweetheart?”
“Mmm. What? I have
an alarm clock, you know?”
“I know.” I know.
She walked back
into her bedroom. Her loving husband was still sound asleep.
“Honey,” she
whispered in his ear.
Snore.
“Honey,” she said
again. “It’s almost seven. I thought maybe you could help me with breakfast…”
Snore.
She smiled. Her
loving husband was so cute when he was sleeping.
She put bacon in a frying pan. She watched it closely as the heat
made it curl and twist, like a prisoner under torture.
She grabbed some oranges. She cut them in
halves. The knife was sharp and penetrated their skin easily. When their flesh
was revealed, she took out a squeezer and started squeezing them one after the
other. As she pushed, they slowly surrendered their juices.
Orange juice. Orange
juice on the balcony. The air was fresh and smelled of saltwater and seaweed…
I’m burning the
bacon! She thought. Please don't be burned. She rushed over to the frying pan.
The bacon was just right: crispy, but not burned. She sighed with relief. Then
she made pancakes.
She called her
family, but there was no reply. She tried again, a bit louder this time. There
was silence throughout the house for about half an hour. Then the happy family
sat down to the perfectly set breakfast table.
“The bacon is not
crispy enough,” her oldest daughter said.
“And the pancakes
are cold,” her younger daughter said.
“And there’s no
milk,” her husband said.
… And what’s the point?
She got into her car and put the key in the ignition. The red Volvo
740 growled. On the way to work she tuned into the radio and out of the world.
It felt good.
She arrived at work
at exactly half passed nine. She started her workday by putting some coffee on.
While the coffee was brewing, she took a quick walk around the store. I need to
tidy these piles and I need to fold these sweaters. And there was something that
I thought about yesterday… Yes, the register needs to be cleaned. Maybe one of
the girls can do it this time? Maybe not. I’ll just do it myself.
It was eight
minutes to ten when the first girl arrived.
“Good morning!”
“Morning,” the girl
growled as she walked by and went into the staff room.
The next girl
arrived two minutes later.
“Good morning! How
are you today?”
No reply.
At exactly ten
o’clock, she turned the sign at the door from Closed to Open. She smiled. I
love my job, she thought.
The first customer
to enter the store was an old lady. The second customer to enter the store was
a little girl. She had black hair and wore a yellow dress. She was very cute. The
third customer to enter the store was a somewhat plus-sized woman in her 50s.
She was looking for a new dress, she said. Something she could wear to a summer
wedding.
The working
housewife thought about it for a couple of seconds. “Ah, I’ve got the perfect
dress for you!” she said.
“No. Nothing like
that. It’s too… I don’t know. I don’t like it.”
“Ok. We’ve got lots
of dresses. What about this one?”
“No. It’s too… I
don’t know. No.”
“I see. Over here
we’ve got another one. It’s perfect for a summer wedding.”
“No. Not my style.”
“I see. What about
this one then?”
“No. It’s too… I
don’t know. I’ll look fat in it.”
“Of course not. You
must be joking! If you’re fat, then what am I? You have a very nice figure. Try
it on and see.” Liar. She’ll look fat in it. She is fat. She will
look fat in whatever she wears.
The woman tried the
dress on.
“Hmm. I don’t know.
I look big.”
“Nonsense! It’s
perfect. You might even outshine the bride!”
“Fine. I’ll take
it. I haven’t got all day, you know.”
She looked fat in it.
The day unfolded the same way all her working days always unfolded:
she helped customers. She tidied this, she rearranged that.
She shared her
lunch break with the growling girl.
“Did you make coffee
this morning?”
“Yes I did. I was
here first so I put on a big pot.”
“It was too strong.
How many scoops did you put in there? I couldn’t drink it. And neither could
the other girls. Next time try to think a little bit before you do something.” Next time try to think a little bit before
you do something.
“Oh, I’m so sorry.
I usually make strong coffee. Especially in the mornings. I need something to
wake me up. I’ll be more careful next time.”
“Whatever.”
He liked strong coffee. And cigarettes.
At exactly six o’clock she
turned the sign at the door from Open to Closed. The girls were gone and she
was alone in the store. She went through her closing checklist. Another working
day had come to an end.
“I’m home,” she
said.
No reply.
From the livingroom
she could hear the TV. She took her coat off, and shook it a couple of times
before she hung it on the coat hanger. She wanted it neat. She wanted
everything to be neat.
In the livingroom
she found her loving husband curled up in the sofa. He was watching TV.
Football.
“Hi honey.”
No reply.
“How’s your day
been?”
“Good. I’m trying
to watch this.”
“Oh sorry.”
She made dinner.
“Dinner is ready,”
the working housewife called out to her family.
No reply.
She walked out in
hallway. “Kids! Dinner!”
“Coming,” her
younger daughter yelled.
She set the table.
In front of every seat she placed a plate, a knife, a fork and a glass. With
precision, she organised everything neatly. Next to her husband’s glass, she
put a beer. There. It was perfect!
“Honey! Dinner is
ready.”
15 minutes later,
the kids finally came down.
“Honey! Are you
coming?”
Sluggishly, her
loving husband dragged himself into the kitchen and sat down at the table.
“So, how was your
day?” she asked her older daughter.
“Good.”
“And yours?” she
asked her younger daughter.
“Good.”
“And what about
your day?” she asked her loving husband.
“Good.”
And silenced settle
over the perfectly set dinner table. Nobody said a word.
Her two sweet little daughters left the table as soon as they had
finished eating. Her loving husband finished his beer and burped loudly.
“Thanks babes,” he said and went back into the living room. They didn’t even put their plates in the
dishwasher. Thanks babe…
In bed, she stared at the ceiling. It had been a long day and she
was very tired. Her loving husband was right beside her. She wanted him to
touch her. An image of his penis came into her mind. It was big and hard and
all covered in swelling veins. She pictured him on top of her. She pictured him
putting it inside her. She got warm. She felt good. But then she ordered her
thoughts to a halt. She was a woman.
But she couldn’t
resist her urges. She snuggled up close to him and kissed his ear. He didn’t
react, so she climbed on top of him and kissed his lips.
“Not tonight,
babes. I’m tired.”
She climbed back to
her side of the bed. Then she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. Her
chest seemed heavy and the air seemed deprived of oxygen. She could feel every
beat of her heart. Beat. Beat. Beat. And she had a weird feeling in her
stomach. It was as if somebody had force-fed her a cannon ball. It was stuck
inside her, spinning and twirling. She could picture it. It was black, and even
though it was solid, it was nebulous, like a miniature storm cloud. And it was
so heavy. She felt like she was going to burst into tears, and never stop
crying. He doesn’t love you. He never
has… SHUT UP!
She closed her
eyes.
He doesn’t love you. He never has. Never. He
loves me. He’s just tired. Really? Yes.
He really does. He loves me. He must love me. Surely he loves me…
She closed her eyes
and drifted off to sleep.
A bright blue sky. White clouds like cotton candy. In the middle of
a deep forest. A scent of spring. Fir trees all around. Birds chirping. Something
stinging. She looked down. More stings. Ants! Ants all over her legs. She was
standing on top of an anthill! Furious ants were rushing up her legs. Troops of
ants everywhere. On her arms. Between her fingers. She tried to brush them off.
She tried to move her legs. She tried to scream. But she couldn’t. Panic.
The light from the
blue sky faded. Darkness spread around her. Shadowy creatures with shining
golden eyes were moving in the dark. They came closer. She was covered in ants.
Ants in her mouth and in her ears. Through her open wounds they were crawling
into her veins. From within they were devouring her whole.
She screamed.
“Babes! Wake up!
It’s just a dream.”
She woke up covered
in sweat.
She closed her
eyes.
And that was the
end of that day.
*
She opened her eyes. It was a misty morning. The husky cries of a
magpie had awoken her from her restless dreams.
She made breakfast.
When breakfast was ready she called her loving husband and her two sweet little
daughters. No reply. Surprised?
She ate her
breakfast alone. When she was done she rinsed her plate and her glass. As she
cleared the table she got that feeling again. The cannonball was back. She felt
as if she was battling something inside her, and the more she fought it, the
stronger it got. She got scared. She somehow knew that this was a battle she
had to win.
In the bathroom she
hid from her reflection. She picked her toothbrush up and started brushing her
teeth. I’m so lucky, she thought. A loving husband, two sweet little daughters
and a beautiful house… But then a sudden pain interrupted her chain of
thoughts. She had accidentally pushed too hard with the toothbrush and through
a miniscule wound in her gum a tiny amount of blood seeped out. She could taste
it. It tasted like iron.
Down by the kitchen
table, she looked at the mist outside the window. The world seemed completely
enveloped in it. The grey fog entered her body and her mind. She left the real
world behind and before she knew it, half an hour had passed. She was now in a
hurry, so she rushed off to work. What a relief! Getting out of that house, you mean? Yes. What a relief!
She arrived at work at exactly five minutes to ten. On her way in
she turned the sign at the door from Closed to Open.
“Morning girls!”
she said as she entered the staff room.
“Morning,” one of
the girls growled back. Bitch.
It was already well
passed 10 when she left the staff room. She had a busy day in front of her.
Folding, arranging, cleaning. Folding, arranging, cleaning. Folding, arranging,
cleaning. It seemed endless. And pointless. Following
orders, that’s all you do. All day long you slave away, following orders like a
private, a common maid. That’s all you are and that’s all you’ll ever be. At
work, at home. Even in bed you follow orders. If you get any orders to follow. No.
I like my job. And I have all I ever wanted. A loving husband, two sweet little
daughters and a beautiful house.
Her day unfolded and folded
much the same way all her other days unfold and fold.
When work was over, the working housewife went home. She went into
the livingroom. Something was different. She looked at TV and looked at it
again.
“Is that a new TV?”
she asked her loving husband.
“Yes,” he said. He
sounded annoyed. “Didn’t I tell you that I ordered a new one?”
“No, you didn’t. I
thought we decided that we were going to use the extra money we saved to go
somewhere. Just the two of us. Isn’t that what we said?”
“No, that’s what
you said.”
She needed to prepare dinner. She took out a big piece of meat from
the fridge and placed it on a cutting board. She took out a knife. She started
slicing the meat. She cut through the muscles and fat. She organised the slices
neatly on top of the cutting board. She grabbed a meat hammer. With force, she
pounded the slices. She pounded. And she pounded harder. And harder. Her mind
became quiet. She looked out over that silent field and the dead bodies.
The family ate in silence. And when her two sweet little daughters
and her loving husband were done, they left the table.
She cleared the
kitchen. She still wasn’t too tired, so she decided to join her loving husband
in the living room. He was watching some kind of sports program. She wanted to
talk to him. The two of them were going through a rough patch. How long had it
been since they had actually talked? She couldn’t remember. She picked up her
book and continued where she had left off. But she couldn’t focus. Her thoughts
kept interrupting her. She thought about when she was young. She thought about him. And the trip. The orange juice on
the balcony. The smell of the sea. And then… How could she do that? She was my
best friend.
*
“Please don’t shoot
me. Please.”
She looked down at
the little child in front of her.
“Please. Please
don’t kill me.”
Tears ran down her
little cheeks. She was all alone.
She’s no exception.
She’s just like everybody else. She’s part of the problem. She’s part of the
system. Spare no one. No one is innocent. They all play their parts in
perpetuating the system. We all play our parts. And the system is not to blame.
The system only exists because we play along. It exists because we won’t stop
running.
“Please! Please
don’t shoot me! Please!”
Should I spare her?
This could be a lesson. She could become something different.
“RUN!”
Two gun shots.
Blood.
The emancipated
woman laughed. “I’m sorry my dear. I thought he was dead. Where were we? Right. I was about to blow your
brains out, wasn’t I?”
“Babes?”
The store faded to
black. She was in her bedroom. Her loving husband was talking to her. She was
covered in sweat and her heart was racing.
“You’re dreaming.
And you’re talking to yourself. Again,” her loving husband said. He sounded
annoyed.
“Sorry honey. What
was I saying?” she asked with hint of panic in her voice.
“I don’t really
know. You were mostly mumbling, but you looked happy. You had this weird smile
on your face. I was watching you for a while.”
“Weird smile? I
can’t remember what I dreamt. All I remember is that I was talking to cute a
little girl.”
“Maybe that’s why
you were so happy.”
“Maybe.”
She closed her eyes
and that was the end of that day.
*
She opened her eyes. Outside her window the rain was pouring. When
it rains, it pours. The red numbers of her alarm clocked showed 05.12. She
stared into the ceiling. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. Her loving
husband was snoring. He woke you up.
Snore. Snore. Snore. That’s all he does. He snores and he complains. Curled up
in front of that TV. He loves his TV, doesn’t he? He loves it more than he
loves you, just as he loved her more than he loved you. They probably did it on
the floor. On the floor with that whore.
Listlessly, she
dragged her lifeless body out of bed. Moving her limbs took tremendous effort.
She noticed a tingling sensation in her right leg. One foot in front of the other. There we go.
She looked herself
in the mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and the skin underneath them was black
and swollen. Her wrinkles seemed deeper and her crow’s feet stretched further. Look at you! No make-up in the world can fix
this. Concealer? What are you concealing? The real face of a hardworking woman?
The face of a working housewife whose husband doesn’t love her and whose kids
despise her?
She reached for her
foundation. Yes. That will help. A little
late to be thinking of a foundation now. Haphazardly she applied it to her
face. Yes. Smear some more of that stuff
on your face. Hide. Conceal. She was too tired to put make-up on, but women
wore make-up and you are a woman. Is that
so? Do they wear make up for you? Does he conceal his real face and his flaws?
The only thing he conceals from you is his dick. Focus! She took control.
She staggered down
the stairs and into the kitchen. Her loving husband was still asleep. Dead
asleep. Her sweet little daughters were still asleep. A grey fog of silence had
made its way into the house. The trench was quiet. Not a scream, not a sound
that hadn’t been drowned.
She had to make
breakfast. The bacon is not crispy
enough. The pancakes are cold. There’s no milk. Ungrateful little fucks. And
what’s his excuse? Too tired? What does he know about being tired?
She opened the door to the
refrigerator. She closed the door to the refrigerator. She sat down. She was so
tired. Tic-toc. Tic-toc. Tic-toc. The hands of the clock were tired too. Tic-toc.
Tic. Tic. You open your eyes. You close
your eyes. Every day it’s the same. The same. The same. The same.
She made herself a
cup of coffee. Coffee usually made her feel better. As she put coffee into the
machine, the tingling in her leg intensified and spread. Small electric shocks
made their way through her veins. All you
always wanted. And at work they all hate you. They hate you and they hate the
coffee you make. They don’t clean the register. They talk about you when you’re
not there. Whispering little magpies, they are.
There was no milk. Somebody
had finished it. The coffee tasted bitter without milk. It was a familiar
taste.
Poor, poor, little you. No milk, no love.
Blue, with bitter black coffee. Close your eyes. Close it all out. Close them
all out.
She drifted off to sleep and
her conscious self turned into liquid and ran down the side of the sofa, like
blown out brains sprayed across a wallpaper-clad concrete canvas.
She opened her eyes. I have
to go to work. I have to go to work. Have to. Go to. Work.
She was five minutes late when she arrived at work. The display
windows stared at her with empty eyes. Inside the store, the magpies were
hopping around on the ground, scrounging for worms and bugs and gossip. They
were busy, but when she turned the sign at the door from Closed to Open, they
noticed her presence and turned their heads towards her. Their shining golden
eyes filled her with fear.
“Morning girls,”
she said as she walked in.
“We’re going to eat you alive,” one of the
girls shrieked back.
She walked into the
staff room. The tingling had now spread to her stomach. She could feel every
single heartbeat and all of them came with a fraction of pain. Her breathing
was heavy. You should never have left
him. He was the right choice. He was a real man; a good man that treated you
well. You loved him. He was intelligent and interesting. He was everything that
pig is not. It might not be too late. You loved him and he loved you.
She tried to take
control. None of this is real. It can’t be. I love my life and I have
everything I always wanted.
For three hours she
struggled in the store and then she went on her lunch break. As long as she was
focused and occupied with work she was still here. But she had to eat, and in
the staff room two hungry magpies were waiting. They raised their heads and
their beaks and shrieked at her as she opened the door to the staff room. Kill them. Shoot them both. Shoot them all… Life
is pointless. Birth, life, death. Fold, arrange, clean. A loving husband, two
sweet little daughters and a beautiful house. All you always wanted. Birth,
life, death. Fold, arrange, clean. Shoot them all!
He had always said
that life was pointless – that it had no intrinsic value – but she had never
really thought about it. Except for the short period of time she had spent with
him. But she was so young back then. And young people think about these things,
don’t they? She had moved on, hadn’t she? As time went by, she had stopped
thinking about life and death. She had learned to live with the pointlessness
of everything, and instead of searching for answers to questions, she had
settled for an existence in oblivion. She had managed to convince herself that
in doing so, she had found a loophole and escaped. But nobody escapes.
“Hey! Lunch break
was over ten minutes ago,” said one of the girls. “Can you take the register
for a while? I need to sort some stuff out in the back.”
“Sure. I can take
the register.” Since you’re incapable of
actually working, lazy cunt.
She finished her
coffee and returned to work. She managed to stay here as long as she kept busy.
But then.
She couldn’t believe her eyes. Was that…? It couldn’t be, could it?
It was Hili Partons! She hadn’t seen Hili since high school. But there was no
doubt about it: that was Hili Partons and she looked exactly the same. She was
still very pretty.
Hili Partons and
the working housewife had been friends once. They had been best friends and there
had been no secrets between them. But then something had come between them.
Please don’t let
her recognise me. Don’t be silly. It’s been such a long time. Water under the
bridge. Water under the bridge? You’re
pathetic.
Hili had long,
blonde hair and perfect lips. She wore pink lipgloss, and every time she opened
her mouth, her lips made a little smacking sound. It was barely noticeable, but
the working housewife noticed it every single time.
Hili still hadn’t
noticed her. There was still time to desert.
Don’t be such a coward.
Then Hili turned
her head towards the counter, swishing her golden locks around. She looked
almost unnaturally tall in her high heels and skinny jeans.
She’s seen me. Oh
no. Oh yes.
With firm steps,
Hili walked over to the counter. Klick-klick-klick-klick-klick-klick.
“Oh my God!
Sweetie, I haven’t seen you in ages,” she said in her usual high-pitched baby
voice. “You haven’t change a bit! You’re adorable. And you’ve still got that
sad look on your face…” Hili said and giggled. “Just kidding, sweetie.”
“Hi Hili,” the
working housewife said, trying to sound as natural as possible. “How are you?” She can smell your fear.
“I’m fabulous. I
just had my nails and my hair done over at that cute little shop on East
Street. And you know what? Since I go there a lot, they gave me a free facial.
They’re so sweet. I love that place!”
The working
housewife didn’t know what to reply so she just smiled.
“So how are you, sweetie? Do
you, do you… work here?”
“Yes, I work here.
I’ve been here for about four years now.”
“Shut up!
Seriously? I mean, it did look like you were working here, but, I didn’t want
to ask in case you didn’t.”
Hili giggled again.
“Just kidding, sweetie. You know me – I can never shut up, can I?”
The working
housewife forced a gentle laugh. “So, what’s new? What do you do nowadays?”
“Life’s fabulous,
sweetie. I just came back from an amazing week on Hawaii. My husband booked
everything as a surprise gift. He just came home one day and said ‘pack your
bags babe, we’re going away’, and as soon as I had packed we were off. It was
so romantic. The best thing ever. And you see this?” she continued as she
pointed towards her finger. “A 2 carat diamond. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
Fucking hit her! Who the fuck does she think
she is? She doesn’t deserve that. My husband would never surprise me. Yes he would. He spends your savings buying
TVs. And your kids despise you. No.
Who are you kidding? You’re pathetic.
Eat, sleep, fold. That’s all you do. And for what? What is the point?
“Sweetie…? Are you
listening?”
That fucking bitch.
“Hello…? Sweetie?”
“Yes, sorry. I just
remembered something. Something important. Will you excuse me?”
“Oh, OK. Let’s
catch up soon, sweetie.”
It was five in the
afternoon when Hili Partons left the store.
The working
housewife took refuge in the staff room for the rest of the day. And when the
day came to an end, she turned the sign at the door from Open to Closed.
When she came home, her loving husband was watching football. The
new TV was louder than the old one. He didn’t hear when the overworked
housewife opened the door to her beautiful house.
Her legs were so
heavy. It was as if they had fallen in love with the ground and any moment away
from their newfound lover was absolute agony. One step at a time, she climbed
the stairs and locked herself in the bathroom.
She felt dizzy. Words and voices were coming and going
inside her head. She could see the words clearly as they popped up. Some of
them made connections and became sentences. Some of them turned into images,
others remained as single entities floating in a tenuous continuum. Some of the
pictures clung onto other pictures and formed films. Her youth. Orange juice on
the balcony. A cigarette. Giving birth. Memories marching in perfect rows.
Emotions that emerged one after the other. Abandonment. Anger. Sadness. Physical
pain, like pouring saltwater into an open wound.
On the bathroom
floor, she cried like she had never cried before. Tears flooded her eyes and
ran down her cheeks like rainwater runs down a drain during a thunderstorm.
Outside the rain kept on pouring down. Time had stopped. She was frozen in a
moment. She wished her heart would stop beating. She wished she could stop
breathing. She wished she could raise that white flag and end it all. But she
couldn’t. And her heart kept on beating. It was the only thing moving. If only
it would stop beating. She cried so hard she almost couldn't breath. Every
breath she took was a scream. But the noise from the TV bound her screams in
shackles and drowned them in a bottomless sea of self-pity. Nobody could hear
her. No body.
Why do I feel like
this? It is all in vain. It is all
pointless. Nobody appreciates you. People at work don’t like you. Your kids
despise you. Your husband doesn’t love you. You thought you could escape.
Nobody can escape. Life isn’t fair. Happiness never lasts. Birth always results
in death. I don’t understand. Everything is so perfect. I’m so lucky. I
have everything I ever wanted. A loving
husband, two sweet little daughters and a beautiful house? Ha! I don’t
understand. What’s wrong with me? I have everything I always wanted. The voice
laughed. All you ever wanted? All y-o-u
ever wanted? And what is that? A fat lazy fuck of a husband who loves his TV
more than he loves you? Who never touches you? Please. And your kids. Your two
sweet little daughters. They don’t love you. They only stick around because you
feed them. Fake little fuckers. If they could, they would run away. Run as fast
as they could. A mother’s love is unconditional; a child must be conditioned to
love. Lucy in the sky with diamonds. Magda in the bunker with cyanide. You have
everything everybody else always wanted…
The working housewife smiled.
You have everything everybody else always
wanted. You have everything everybody… else always wanted. You have… everything everybody else always wanted. I
have everything everybody else always wanted. Silence. A battle lost. A war
won.
She went to bed. She stared at the ceiling. She had never been this
tired. She closed her eyes. The world around her slowly faded away and another
one took its place.
Bright lights and
white walls in an immaculate room. A long white table. Behind the table, a
wall. With a window? She couldn’t see through it, but she got a feeling that
somebody was watching her from the other side. She couldn’t move. She was in a
straitjacket! There was somebody in front of her.
“Don’t be afraid,”
the woman said. “This is just a dream. We have some serious matters to attend
to. After that, you are free to go.”
The woman in front
of her was very attractive. Her red lipstick perfected her black dress. In her
bra, on the left side, she had a package of cigarettes. Red Marlboros.
“Don’t struggle.
The more you struggle the tighter it will get. Only when the hamster stops
running can it escape the hamster wheel.”
The woman pulled
out the cigarettes and opened the package. She let her finger slide over the
cigarette filters. She looked very amused and concentrated, as if selecting
which cigarette to smoke was a very serious matter. “Your time’s up,” she said,
as she picked one of them and pulled it away from the rest. She lit it.
“Didn’t you hear
me?” the woman asked and exhaled a big breath of smoke. “Your time is up!”
“I thought you were
talking to the cigarette.”
“Talking to a
cigarette?” the woman chuckled. “Don’t be silly, my dear.”
Suddenly, a peace
of paper appeared mid-air in between them. There it floated for a couple of
seconds, before it descended towards the table. It was a contract of some sort.
“I need your
signature,” the woman said in a cold voice. “It’s for the best, trust me.”
“Can I read it?”
“There’s no time,
I’m afraid. And it’s all in fine print anyway.”
Ink and a quill-pen
appeared next to the contract.
“I need you sign
here,” the woman said and pointed towards the paper.
The straitjacket
got tighter, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. The working housewife picked up the
quill-pen. She hesitated for a moment. Then she put her signature on the
contract. The instant she signed it, she felt an intense feeling of relief.
“Feels good,
doesn't it?” the woman asked. Suddenly, a kitchen knife appeared in her right
hand.
“I’m terribly
sorry, my dear,” she said.
Then she stood up. And
the table vanished. She clutched her fist around the kitchen knife. She smiled.
Then she plunged the knife into the heart of the working housewife. Blood
surged out of the wound. The woman laughed as she squeezed and wiggled the
knife. More blood. But the pierced heart was still beating. And it kept on
beating. And the woman kept on laughing. Then she suddenly pulled the knife
out, blood dripping from its blade. She stopped laughing. And she raised the
knife and kissed it. Then she licked the blood of the blade and smiled.
And
the working housewife’s heart stopped beating.
To be continued
