Whipped
“I’ve been waiting for this opportunity a long time, and now that it is here, I don’t know what to do or say,” said George. “You are such a bitch, always bossing me around, treating me like a child, putting me down…” his voice trailed off to whispered ramblings.
His wife struggled against the restraints, hissing and grunting.
George pointed the .357 at her head with trembling hands.
“I’ve dreamt of this moment, planned it, wished for it,” he said. His hands began to quiver faster. “Why can’t I do it?” he said as he lowered the gun.
His wife’s grunts escalated to growling, and bloody foam dripped from her lips. He turned away from her and sat down.
“Why, why, why…” he sobbed. “I prayed for the guts to do this for years, now she’s a friggin’ zombie and I still can’t do it.”
He didn’t hear his wife’s bonds snap…
Paul Ingrassia is a 41-year-old metal-head hippie from New York with a passion for reading and writing short poetry and flash fiction. He was nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2006, and his poetry and articles have appeared in a variety of print and web publications. His flash fiction has appeared in Necrotic Tissue, Flashshot, Flashes In The Dark, and MicroHorror. To learn more about Paul and his writing, visit: >http://themysticfool.blogspot.com/
good story… had me feeling sorry for the guy.
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