Washing

Others Stories | Apr 10, 2012 | 2 min read
28 Votes, average: 4 out of 5
Who was she to shout at him like that? This wasn't the woman Mike had married. She used to be so nice, forgiving and beautiful. But now all she did was nag. Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag, nag. For all she knew, the dishwasher could've been malfunctioning of its own accord. Evidently,the reds always ran and kept tinting everything crimson. Incidentally, this was Mike's fault, but she didn't know that. She suspected that he'd just been messing around with the machine. Like there was nothing better for him to be doing with his time?

Well, nothing to worry about now, Mike thought, staring at the body of his wife, sprawled across the living room floor in abandon. Her eyes were still open, glazed, staring into perpetual nothingness.

"Let's take you to the shed, eh?" Mike joked with his wife's corpse, hefting her over his shoulder as he made for the back door. He strolled through his garden and into his reasonably sized garden shed. The door creaked open, and Mike squeezed himself and the body through the opening. There was a small table at the far end, on which he lay his wife down and stared at her for a moment.

Clicking his fingers, he reached into a small cupboard in the corner and picked out a small hacksaw. He took her left hand, which was hanging down from the side of the table, and propped it up. He took the ring from her finger and put it in his pocket, and then he started working, sawing off every finger.

The blood oozed from her hands and down her arms, forming menacing patterns on the skin. Mike watched the drops travel along the arm, before continuing his work. After the fingers were done, he studied her face.

Reaching into the cupboard again, he fetched a small, rusty, bloodstained spoon. He positioned it in the corner of her eye, and scooped. It took some force, but he got them both out.

He squeezed the fingers of his wife's right hand together, and collected the flowing blood in a plastic container, watching the hand slowly turn white. Once the container was full to the brim, he put the cap on, and put it on top of the cupboard.

As a finale to his work, Mike collected a serrated knife from his cupboard of goodies, and placed it the other way around in his hand, knife facing downwards. He curled his arm towards his shoulder and threw the knife down, straight into his wife's forehead. It stuck, and Mike surveyed is handiwork. He was quite satisfied.

He took the blood filled container from the top of the cupboard, and stared at the words on the label - FABRIC SOFTENER.

Mike shuffled out of the shed, and headed through the garden, back into his house.

He had some washing to do.

 

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