THOU SHALT MURDER

– Two –

She loves her husband. He’s everything a woman could possibly want: handsome, intelligent, funny, wealthy…

Tragically, she’s not the only one who loves him.

He was loyal at first. His eyes would rarely stray. She would reward him for that all the time, until work started consuming her, and her boss started making her pay for the job. He became impatient, and started to…

…roam. Explore.

The secretary.

The cleaning woman.

The gorgeous, single woman next door.

It was plainly obvious. He thought he was being discreet, but she could see all. She never said anything – after all, what right did she have to accuse him of sleeping with women outside their marriage when her boss was fucking her as payment for keeping her job?

None, she believed.

Until the boss mysteriously turned up shot one morning in the office.

She was free.

She tried to return to her husband. He didn’t come back to her. He liked the other women too much. The adventure they presented. The challenge they offered. She tried to turn him back to her, tried to get him to see that she was there for him now.

It hurt her. The pain – it was probably more than the suffering she had endured with her boss.

Her loneliness was smothering, too much like her silence. Softly, slowly, slowly, softly…

She was now a domestic servant to him, watching from the sidelines as he went off with those other whores, using him for his money, trying to fall pregnant so he would be compelled to give some of his fortune to them when he died.

She would not let that happen. She’d rather him dead than him having children outside their marriage.

He’s eating dinner, sipping his wine, hardly sparing a glance for the woman who is his wife. She stares at him coldly. There is no love left in her eyes anymore. Any love she held for him has disappeared into the cold depths of her heart.

He puts his fork down slowly, his face paling, his eyes wild with fear, and his body shaking. He knows something is wrong. He chokes and clutches his throat, throwing an arm out to her in a soundless cry for help.

She touches his face.

He keels forwards and collapses to the floor, convulsing. His pleading eyes meet her cold ones, begging her silently.

She shakes her head.

Through his choking, he manages to force out a plea: p-please…help –

She kneels beside him.

She won’t help him.

She’s had enough.

She simply watches him. Watches him die before her eyes.

And she says two words.

Die.

Slowly.