Dead

Dead – A short story

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The murderin’s done, all that’s left to do now is dispose of the body.

How did it get to this? We were so happy together. Okay, not Hollywood fairytale happy, but we had our moments. Ten years of precious time shared, and not once did I stray, not once did I turn my head in another girls direction. I thought the same was true for her too… How bloody stupid I was. And not just once either, but four times. Four times! And right from the start too, and I knew nothing about it, until the fourth. When I found out about him and confronted her, that was when she told me about all the others. She didn’t care. She just blurted it out, just…just blurted it out in graphic, sickening detail. And she seemed to enjoy ripping me apart, piece by broken piece. Well, that was it, no more. I just exploded. Exploded with furious venom spraying from my lips, saying things I never thought I would ever say to the woman I loved. A woman who I thought loved me too. Then the knife, and after that…it was all over. Just incoherent gurgles, and a body. A lifeless, blood-soaked body. And the question: how to dispose of it?

You know who the fourth guy was? I don’t know about the other three, who they were I mean, she told me their names but I didn’t actually know them. But the fourth, I knew him alright. Mr I’ve got more money than you, Mr I’ve got a bigger, faster car than you… Peter. Bloody Peter.

Peter used to be my so-called best mate, he was even my best man when I married that bitch. And for the last six months he’s been banging that heartless, conniving cow.

I should have realised…should have seen what was going on sooner. I mean, thinking about it now, she wasn’t exactly discreet about her infidelity. I’d come home and he’d be there, in his flash suit, gold watch and inane bleached white grin—glaring beacons to his narcissism. Oh Christ! How could I not have seen what was going on? The number of times she was just coming out of the shower when I came home, while Peter sat on my sofa, watching my bloody TV. I thought nothing of it. I should have realised. How ridiculous I must have looked to them. She must have laughed ‘til the tears rolled. Well there’ll be no more tears from me now. I grabbed the knife, and that was that; the unstoppable wheels of fate were set in motion. I’m rid of her now, to what end I don’t know. I don’t know what happens after something like this.

I suppose I’ll be judged for the things I have done. I’ve led a pretty good life, always tried to do the right thing, tried to be a good man. Well what does it matter now. She meant the world to me, and now…well, it’s all over, so nothing really matters anymore. The screaming is done, and the blood has been spilt. It’s all over for me now.

I wish one thing though, I wish that Peter had been here. Then maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe I would have plunged that cold blade into him first. Then I wouldn’t be looking at this body in front of me now, this bloodied body all wrapped up in carpet—like something out of an old gangster movie. Seems kinda stupid to say, but I regret the mess I’ve made in our beautiful house. God I hate that bitch, I hate her so much for what she did to me.

What should I do now? I think I’ll just sit here, there was so much screaming and shouting someone must have heard us and called the police. I think I’ll just sit here and wait for the boys in blue to arrive, then…who knows what will happen then. Mind you, it’s been a while now. Maybe no one called the police, maybe there is still time to get rid of the body. A body, a corpse, an empty shell of what once was. A lump of decaying flesh, all rolled up in a thirty-pound a square metre carpet. Like I said, it doesn’t matter now, I’ve crossed over into new territory, the unknown, and I really don’t give a shit what happens to me now.

It’s funny but I’m kinda glad about one thing though, I always hated that carpet, and now it’s ruined. Well you’ve got to find something to laugh about in these situations, I suppose. I wonder if insurance pays out for the clean up job after a murder.

I can still hear her voice, when she’s not shouting or screaming she’s got a very sexy voice, a husky come-to-bed voice. But it doesn’t sound very sexy now, in fact, she sounds frantic. Now there is another voice, another familiar voice. That human billboard for shallow, self-serving shits everywhere, Peter.

They are coming closer, I can hear them on the stairs, outside the door… There you both are, you complete bastards. That’s it, just stand there looking worried. What’re you going to do now? Look what she’s got you into buddy. I’m dead and she killed me, and now she’s going to get you to dispose of my body. Well? What are you going to do, Peter?

That’s right, you bitch, tell him how I found out about you both. How I went into the kitchen and got a knife. How I threatened you with it. Then how I dropped it and walked away. Tell him how you picked it up and stabbed me in the back…again…and again. That’s right Peter, it was all for you.

Well? Come on, God. They’ve taken my body away now—to do who knows what with. I’m left here, on my own. What happens now? What am I supposed to do? Where am I suppose to go? I’m dead…do you hear me? Dead!

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