The Three Bears
My husband was not an easy man to love.
These days, for the slightest of reasons, he would make my blood boil.
One single misplaced remark and once again, I felt all the muscles of my body contract and my face boil, while my teeth clenched and my lips curled inwards between them.
Time to retreat.
I rushed up to the bedroom and threw myself on the bed.
I yearned to throttle the last dregs of life out of him. Put my hands around his grimy throat, squeeze through the stubble and feel his Adam’s apple collapse and break like a brittle, meatless chicken bone.
I’d smash the voice box that had uttered such vile words and if I was lucky, really lucky, I’d rupture his windpipe and watch his lips turn blue and his body fall limp and lifeless as all the air in his body escaped.
I was still struggling to breathe when I heard giggling from my little Elsie’s room.
I got up and went to the doorway and saw her playing with her Teddy Bears.
My heart skipped a beat.
I took a deep breath.
It was time for a brisk walk.
I must learn to retake control before it’s too late.
From our host – “The idea of Sunday Photo Fiction is to create a story / poem or something using around about 200 words with the photo as a guide. Please try to keep it as close to the 200 words as possible. It doesn’t have to be centre stage in the story, I have seen some, where the placement is so subtle, the writer states where it is.”