Ashes to Ashes

Haunting by Night ...

Angie saw the reflection on the microwave door. It showed Bret slipped a paring knife behind him at his belt underneath his untucked shirt. He was wary of Angie unusual tidiness in the kitchen. “You must be busy preparing today’s dinner, darling,” Bret asked. “I want tonight to be perfect. We could use a little spark in our relationship sometimes. It’s better sooner than later.” “Yes, of course.” Bret agreed.

Angie placed the dishes and invite Bret to the dining table. She knew Bret watched his back from the reflection of the kitchen window’s glass panel. It’s to provoke her like she would do to him. “How’s mom?”, Bret started a friendly conversation. “Don’t worry. She will be healthy in your lifetime,” in a hostile tone. “It’s not what I meant,” Bret explained. “I didn’t say you did. It’s odd you enjoy asking something without good reason all the time.” Angie sound irritated, “I know you don’t like her.” Silence came between them as they both ponder if it’s better to be sooner than later.

Bret finished his meal. He stood up and walked to the sink to wash his plate. Angie wasn’t watching him. Her hand gripped the unlocked firing pin pistol hidden beneath the table. It’s barrel pointed between Bret’s legs where she had intended it to hurt the most for her pleasure. She wanted to pull the trigger when Bret turned around, “We talk about this later again.” Angie replied, “Sure.” Bret left the kitchen. She discovered the missing paring knife was back at its holder beside the sink.

Angie stood up to open the oven door. Turned on the gas. She walked out of the house and never looked back on her life since the day. The house they lived in for years blew up in flame. All you need is a spark at the right time to ignite a hellfire. Angie despised Bret’s smoking habit after dinner.

Smoke Kills.

Love and hate relation in secrets and lies; truth would be cheaper.

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I feel the pain of a knife pierce through my heart each time the shovel thrust into the soil. Every scene written on these pages is annotate with vivid explaination to bring life back from my death. My dirty forehand wipe drips of sourish sweat from my mouth. I throw the shovel into the moist ground. The shovel blade bury itself halfway with its handle stuck upright, stand there under the full moon tonight like a tombstone for a burial ground. Death is art in the eyes of the beholder. I repeat those last words he screamed at me, “Nothing personal. It’s business.”, and stroll back to the car. In my thought, “You’re hiring a new publisher agent?”, I grin, “It’ll be Stranger in The Night.”, the perfect plot for my one and only fan, “You.” My hire killer gave me his sweet and caring smile. I kiss him back.

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