The Perfect Man

Sorry folks, Chapter 13 of The Builder has to make way for a real flash fiction piece. I haven't written something like this in some time, so forgive me if it's a little rough.

***

As she walked through the front door, grocery bags in tow, she wondered if he was home. She had seen his car parked outside – as clean and pristine as ever. Not quite knowing what she should say when she saw him, she stopped calling out to him when she realised there was not going to be a response.

“Desperate and despondent,” he had said when asked to describe how he felt. She repeated the phrase to herself, knowing that she somehow could relate to what he was going through. She placed her hand bag in the living room, deposited her shoes in the shoe cupboard, and carried the groceries to the kitchen lining each item of possession up in a row, just how he liked it.

She moved upstairs, her hand running along the spotless balustrade of the staircase – it was truly fine oak wood. The marble staircase gave the house Victorian charm – or at least he thought it did. She had always felt it was ostentatious and pretentious. He never really did care how she felt. Tomorrow she decided she would drop a hammer on the sparkling floor, just to cause distress.

Entering their bedroom which also reeked of old, grandiose dreams she began to undress as usual, as she had done every day of every week of every month of every year for the past twelve years of marriage. As she removed her earrings she walked towards their marbled bathroom, with two separate sinks, by his choice; lest she introduced her filth into his private space.

She pushed open the door and saw him. Inanimate. Lifeless. Eyes open, staring at her with blame. His body lay as neatly as it possibly could have. The water in the tub was darkened with maroon-coloured water. There was a plastic packet, on the corner of the tub. He had even remembered to rinse it out and dry it before placing it in the bag after using it. There was a note, perfectly plastered to the side of the tub. Not a wet spot of water on it, since it had been laminated. He always did love laminating important documents. Claimed it kept things clear, when the mind was muddy.

She read out loud, knowing he would expect her to do so. “The blood will begin to stain after the water has been drained. Rinse with vinegar to prevent said stains. Dispose of the blade in the sharps bin; be careful not to touch it. I would greatly appreciate it if the people from the coroner’s office did not dirty the house. Be sure to clean it after they have removed me. I have left dinner for you in the fridge. Much love.”

“Much love, my husband. Much love. Goodbye then. Can’t say this came as a surprise but you’ve even managed to perfect death.”




Wipe the look of shock off your face, especially those of you who know me. I've always been morbid, can't change that! Help me promote this blog, will you? Leave me a comment, I'll definitely reply, give me some feedback. Tell your friends it's time to start reading - even if it'll depress the crap out of them. Much love, my friends.

Will most prolly post Chapter 13 up on Tuesday, 03/08/2010 - Cheers!

Read older chapters of The Builder here: Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

And just to scare the crap out of you, I present The Nightmare. Came to mind when I was having a cup of coffee at The Coffee Grounds, in Somerset ;)

I see a hole in the wall. I walk toward it. I place my hand in it. I am sucked into it, arms flailing. Not quite remembering how or where I landed, I ran. Time warp. I am sitting in the park. There is a monkey in the corner of a bedroom. I am falling. Time warp. He looked at me. I smiled. He reached for my neck. I screamed. He laughed. He flung me across the room. There is a monkey in the corner of the bathroom. Time warp. I am lost. I am crying. It is dark. I am trapped in the cupboard. There is a monkey in the cupboard. Time warp. I realise I am dreaming. Wake me up. Wake me up. Wake me up.

Cheers, to Henry Fuseli and his painting, The Nightmare, 1781.