Small part of what I am writting. :)

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Just a small part of what i'm writing at the moment, sorry if the spell and grammar is bad. hope you enjoy it

I sat quietly staring out the car window watching the trees pass, not really listening but unable to escape from the constant complaints of the person driving as we made our way to Gordon and Stella’s house.

"MY FUCKING HUSBAND COULDN'T EVEN FILL THE FUCKING CAR BACK UP".

Petty comments of a failing relationship pushed on to me like she thinks I care, making this seemingly short journey last for what seemed like forever.

After arriving and going through all the needless pleasantries of;

"Hi",

"How are you", and

"Would you like a drink".

And then waiting though silences whilst they thought of the appropriate answers of, "oh hello" "yes, I'm fine thank you" and "coffee please" whilst adjusting themselves to the presents of two people who had just assumed they could come into their home without so much as a warning knock, then use their phone to sign in on some cheap automated system, basically saying, 'yeah, I'm here, doing my job' something the company felt necessary in order to pay us, I went to the kitchen and began washing the dishes, whilst making two cups of coffee. The same as every time we came here, yet all i could hear was the constant blabbering of my useless partner, barely slowing her pace to say hello to the people we were meant to helping.

"He makes me feel so shit sometimes."

"I don't see why i offend him so much."

"He's such a prick."

"What did i ever do to him", going on and on and on.

The kettle finished boiling.

"…and did I tell you, he didn't ever bother to fill the ca-".

Before she could finish her sentence I had gripped my fingers around the kettle and with one quick jerk of my arm it met her face. She hit the floor, blood quickly descending to the ground. It was a defensive attack, unsure of how much longer i could stand there listening to her high pitched whining, without eventually wanting to kill myself. I mean, she'd already bored me half to death, how long would it be until depression crept in and finished me off? It was too late now though, I couldn't stop. I felt as if my body had just surrendered itself to my desires and I was merely watching from a distance as I hit her again and again and again till both she and the kettle were rendered dysfunctional pieces of scrap that were of no use to anyone.

I quietly moved over to the door and pushed it closed, before placing what was left of the kettle on the counter near the microwave, and with a deep sigh, I uttered the words "I'm going to have to replace that”, before moving back over to the sink, stepping over Abby's legs, to fill a pot with water so I could finish making the coffee. I felt sorry for her, it wasn't really her fault that her husband was a 'prick', she was just the one who got punished because of it. Well, I guess the blame can be shared between the two of them, he could have been nice, she could have closed her mouth for more than a few seconds.


Submitted: November 08, 2012

© Copyright 2022 mAlice. All rights reserved.

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Snooze

I really enjoyed your story, well done, I am new to the site, and would love it if you could cast your eye over my story. The presantation of your work is great.

Sat, December 8th, 2012 9:01pm

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