He doesn’t do anything. Twenty years I’ve looked after him and still it goes on; food wrappers, cigarette butts and dirty cups at a time when I should be relaxing.
I told him that yesterday and he just looked at me like I was a piece of shit on his shoe.
I know I’ll have to call someone to sort it out but right now I need five minutes to compose myself.
I cried at first. Then I screamed; screamed at myself when I realised what I’d done.
I’ve left the pillow over his face. I can’t bear to look.
5 comments:
Wonderful writing, I love how, despite the word count, the change in narrative is still rather jolting.
Goodness gracious...
That was brutal...
Let's hope this never happens to Mr. Manbag.
;)
Ha! First time I've visited your blog and I just read that post and went "WTF WTF WTF DO I NEED TO CALL THE AUTHORITIES?!?" But then I looked at the tags and calmed down.
Creepy. Nice job.
bwhahahah... Thats awesome!!!
Is that my husband you're talking about? LOL!
Post a Comment