The Wound

It was dark when Mary returned home from a night out with her friends. She chose to park the car on the street outside their house, rather than in the driveway, and turned off the engine. She slumped into the seat dreading the thought of going inside.

Being married to Mark had soon taught her she was walking a thin rope. He was a control freak. It had not always been like that, though. Thinking back on their courtship, she remembered him as a loving and caring person, and when he proposed marriage she didn't hesitate.

After the wedding, it all changed, and a monster gradually emerged. She could do nothing right. At first it was a verbal thing. He'd criticised her for the most trivial things, like she hadn't ironed his shirt as he was used to, or not cooking a meal as he liked it to be. She'd tried to argue her case, when he flared up, only to be shouted at.

She was miserable, and thought it was all her fault, until he started beating her. At first, it was only a few slaps, until one night he started pounding her. The next thing, she remembered, was when she woke up with a head the size of a football. One eye she barely managed to open, the other was too swollen even to contemplate. And that's when the seed of hate was sown.

She feared he'd soon begin to limit her seeing friends, so tonight was her chance to act. She let herself into the house as quietly as possible. Not a sound. Every thing was dark. She tiptoed into the kitchen and pulled the butcher knife from the block.

Taking one step at a time, she went upstairs, holding her breath at every squeak. She hesitated outside the bedroom, and listened. All she heard was a soft snoring from inside. Holding the knife at the ready, she entered the room and went straight to the form in the bed. She buried the knife into it, ignoring the screams of horror, as she kept thrusting the knife into the body.

"This is for you, you bastard, this is for you!" She screamed.

The body twisted one more time before it went still, and then ... then all went quiet.

Mary turned to leave, the knife smeared in blood, still in her hand. She was strangely at peace, as she headed down the stairs. In a haze, she heard the front door open, and a voice rang out.

"Honey, I see you are back already. That's good, just as I told you to be. I may just allow you out again another time. Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you that my little brother was coming to stay the night. Did you meet him?"