A demented pixie fabricated with transparent horns and a Glasgow grin to match. He’d been the one to drag that condescending smile ear to ear, the one to reshape the landscape of her pretty face so that she, now a freak-show, would be recognized as such by the world. He’d taken the diplomatic route in all instances previous, if anything his behavior had been exemplary.
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When the relationship took a dangerous turn for the worse, he’d kept his hands and insults to himself. The same could not be said for that horrible woman who thwarted his best attempts to conduct a rational conversation. They’d sought conventional counseling, separated, reunited under more favorable circumstances. In the end he’d gotten a restraining order, which had been taken as something of a joke and thus never as conscientiously enforced as his sanity and physical well-being necessitated.
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She had hit him twice with her car, on the 2nd occasion at a sufficient speed to break two of his ribs and the arm he’d used as a makeshift shield. After their final breakup he’d never reentered the dating world despite admonitions from friends. He dared not to utter even a single syllable to any woman that was not of his own blood lest she turn out just as insidious or become the victim of a jealousy that required no provocation beyond delusion. She sold his prized guitar collection out of sheer malice, destroyed his property, drugged him on numerous occasions, accused him falsely of rape, which resulted in a loss of employment. She had taken his soul apart brick by brick, unraveled him so totally that he had lost all sense of reality, of himself. No dating was out of the question, he was in no condition and his baggage came with a vendetta and a will all its own.
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There was no justice for a beautiful, manipulative woman, hell even he had forgiven her more times then he dared now to recall. When she poisoned his German Shepard, all the crimes he’d stoically endured, all the slights forgiven and forgotten in light of more atrocious crimes came crawling up from his bowels, like poisonous black bile. There she’d stood laughing, proud of her cruelty and there he’d stood unhinged, incoherent, blinded by rage, grief, and a desperation that made him feel physically ill. He’d grabbed a kitchen knife without consideration, for in all those years that he’d entertained retaliation, he’d never actually went so far as to plan it. In that instant, however, he knew what was to be done and all other thoughts, like those of consequence or morality fled. He hadn’t continued to slice away at her face, had never intended to kill her only to imprint upon her, that sick murderous smile. He was the one arrested, labeled insane and sent to live in Anwar Heights, while she became the victim, a symbol for abused women everywhere. He didn’t care though, he was untouchable behind these walls, free, in a non-world.
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(no idea what compelled me to write this but its my first completed short story haha The picture would be before the grin lol)
mindlovemisery 