ポスト#9

Somtimes, things aren't so clear. Like this image, what does one do with a red cup? Why can't I understand the instructions.

This is a working story, "Letters of Man and Wife"

She was so fed up with her husband, but knew that a divorce would be unholy and so night after night, they argued to no avail. It was a stalemate. Love-Love, 40-40, no advantages.

She left the house that September morning, for the last time. On the dining room table was a letter of her final thoughts to her husband. She took with her, her savings and hopped into her car, driving West - away from the rising sun.

When he came to, he didn't immediately notice her absence. Sure, it was completely silent all throughout the house, but it didn't bother him. It sounded like "success." He went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. Even as he settled his mug onto the coaster, he failed to notice the letter that was only inches away.

Maybe a minute had passed before he enters a state of consciousness or maybe that's how long it took for the coffee to kick in. He picks up the letter and before opening it, he knows what's inside. He opens it, the same way he opens junk mail - fast and unclean, with scraps sticking out like teeth.

He skims it once, twice. It's the same words he's been hearing for months. Monster. Sick. Insane. And every synonym for those words.

Yes, he had tried to strangle her with his bare hands. She stayed up crying all night.
"Jesus, don't cry."

She was probably startled since he chose to do it while she was sleeping. If she had been awake and prepared, it would've went more smoothly and he would have killed her by now. He only failed because he had lost balance and slipped slightly to the side of the bed while she tried to wiggle free. And then she became hysterical. It's not like she didn't know it was coming. He sat her down last week and told her this was the last thing he needed to do.

He is turning 70 next month, and there's no way he was going to live to see his 80th birthday - with his blood and lung problems. Death was catching up to him. Time was running out. Couldn't a wife fulfill her duties and be obedient, like in the old days? If his grandfather had told his grandmother to count out exactly 250 grains of rice for dinner, she would've done it; she would've spent the time to prepare the meal he requested.

He had told his wife, he had done everything he had wanted to do in life except to kill another person with his bare hands. She couldn't understand it, how did such a grotesque thought even enter her beloved husband's mind? He explained that it wouldn't be torture or murder if the other person consented. No different than euthanasia. He couldn't get her to agree, but he settled for the fact that he at least told her. He still loves her and he's told her that. It's as true as each star is a setting sun. They were both going to die sooner or later, so why not complete each others' destinies before doing so?

He should have drugged her so she would be numb, feeling no pain. Why hadn't he thought of that before. Maybe when she comes back next month - I mean, really, where can she go, she has to come back, they had no children or close family - he'll do that for her. That's the least he could do.