A continuation of my flash fiction story, Run.
I didn’t bring Karen there to kill her. I mean I’ve thought about it. Every guy has thought about it. If any man that’s been married 10 years or longer tells you he hasn’t, he’s lying. You know you’ve been there. You’re in a fight. She makes some kind of snippy, emasculating remark that just sticks you right in the gut, and the she turns her back on you. She turns her back on you. And you think how easy it would be nudge her, right in the back, send her flying down the stairs. But I’d never do it. I’m not a killer. At least I thought I wasn’t.
Then she takes off running out of our car like a crazy woman down an old country road, when I know that she has no idea where she’s going, and I’m confused for a sec. It’s then I realize – she thinks I want to kill her. She’s afraid of me. No one’s ever been afraid of me.
So I catch up with her, tell her she’s crazy, how much I love her, how much I love our life together, and she gets back in the car with me. We’re quiet on the way home, and I think about it all and realize, I should kill her. I want to kill her. She thinks I’m capable of murder, so maybe I am. We don’t have forever in us. We aren’t going to end up one of those couples that celebrates their golden anniversary, sits in rocking chairs on the front porch of the retirement home talking about the good old days and gets buried side by side. One day she’ll tire of me, and I’ll end up just another divorced dad, only getting to see my son when SHE decides it’s okay. I want more.
So one day, after she’s happy again and unsuspecting, I’ll do it. As she’s taking her last breaths I’ll whisper in her ear that it was her idea.