Reckless Rita and Feckless Fred

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Reckless Rita and Feckless Fred


Feckless Fred

 

Dear Diary,   12/8/2015

 

I’m sitting here next to feckless Fred, except now he’s dead, and I’m about half seas-over working on my sixth pint of Conqueror Black. I found a crate in the back of his truck!

 

That’s the last picture I took of him, right before Thanksgiving dinner at the community club. Well it’s half the picture. Old feckless was getting an early start. Nothing new about that, but tonight is the first time he really hurt me.

 

I downloaded the pictures, cut off his head, and pasted it onto a silver platter surrounded by bloodied mashed potatoes. You’ve got to love Photoshop! I stuck it on an e-card and wrote, “It’s what’s for Dinner – Happy Feckless Turkey Day”!

 

Well, it made Olivia laugh and I got to vent. What Fred didn’t know never hurt him…until now. (Snicker!)

 

Okay, so murder is wrong and way out of my comfort zone, but it was really self-defense, so I know you will forgive me when I explain why. 

 

Only you and Olivia know that the things I said weren’t premeditated. You know, stuff like, “If he comes home stinking drunk again I’ll do something drastic”! I never really meant it. I was just blowing off steam.

 

I was pissed and spouting off recklessly like I do. You know stuff you say in anger like, “I’ll spike his drink with Drano” and “If he lays a single hand on me, I’ll go Unabomber on his worthless ass”.

 

Tonight he busted through the locked bedroom door. Old feckless blackened my eye and split my lip. He tried to bludgeon me with the marble lamp and I snapped! It was like getting struck by lightning. Zap! Then everything after is a moment of newfound clarity.

 

I suppose, by now, I knew I’d kill the bastard someday. I just didn’t know it would be today. 

 

Knowing his nightly routine, I waited to hear him turn the faucets and fill the bathtub. I heard the water splash in protest as he lowered his fat ass into it. (Talk about the size of Amarillo!) 

 

Tonight, I stopped threatening and issuing impotent warnings. Feckless knew it was just hot air. He knew I was just blowing smoke so tonight, I made good on them.

 

No one can say I didn’t warn him, but this time, Feckless went way over the top and he pushed me to my ultimate limit. It was time to put up or shut up!

 

Olivia knew it. She told me, “If you forgive him, he thinks he can beat you all the time and get forgiven all the time. All that teaches old feckless is that he’s right”. 

 

He thinks he can abuse me and get off with a few crocodile tears and well-rehearsed words. I showed him.

 

Geeze, she sure was right. She spoke with the voice of personal knowledge, warning me, “One day you’ll make a decision or he’ll force you to, if he doesn’t kill you first”. 

 

She offered to let me stay over when he really had a snoot-full. Until tonight I was damn near living there but just like she said, feckless Fred forced me to choose. 

 

It was his life or mine so I did the first thing that came to mind, though I did fantasize about it since the day after I married the son of a bitch.

 

I went to the tool shed to fetch a long extension cord and plugged it into the wall outside the bathroom. Then I got the toaster and plugged it into the other end. Silently, I cracked the door open.

 

Fred got up when he saw me enter. Before he could make a move, I lobbed the toaster, high and hard, and yelled, “Hey Fred, go deep”!

 

You should have seen his face when I pitched the toaster into the tub. Oh my goodness gracious! It was so much better than I’d imagined a million times! It was absolutely priceless! 

 

Well, what now? I have to call Olivia straight away; maybe she’ll know what to do with fried feckless.

 

RR

 

 

By Wildfire8470

 

Wildfire8470

 

 

 

 

 

 

© December 08, 2015 – 07:21 AM – All Rights Reserved
Copyrighted.com Registered & Protected AAWK-U4ZV-AVSE-28KZ

 

 

 

 

Tagged: Abuse, Alcoholism, AmEditing, Chosen Family, Comedy, Drama, Dangerous Women, Flash Fiction, Friendship, Humor, Matricide, Murder, Psychological Fiction, Unrelated Family, WiP

Done!

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2-7-2013 Done!

Kimberly lay across the edge of the tub, half-drowned and too exhausted with his abuse to care anymore. She lay as though dead, amazed she was able to think at all. He had nearly killed her this time.

“One hour late from girls’ night out is not call for this,” she raged with no ability to move. She wondered how or why she had survived for this long as she stared into the mirror across the room, her makeup running down her ashen face, almost wishing he had succeeded tonight.

Everything inside her was screaming,

“I’m done with this fucking shit!” Done! DONE,” but she had no energy to utter a sound.

She couldn’t even summon the strength to strip from her sodden dress and dry herself, but the voice in her head wouldn’t stop. Not this time…

DONE! FINISHED! OVER! THE END! DONE!

On nights like this, she used to wonder why she had married the bastard. Now, she only contemplated ending it.

She closed her eyes and really thought hard this time. She hit extremes without fortitude to put plans into action, so she lay there drenched, gasping for air… and plotting.

Finally, a quiet strength encompassed her as an actual plan took shape.

Kimberly knew she couldn’t divorce the asshole. She had inherited millions when she lost her parents,

…and I’m not going to lose it to him, she fumed angrily, I’d end up supporting the lazy bastard too!

Thoughts of losing house and home to him were nearly unbearable but the money she inherited from her parents was non-negotiable.

No! That is NOT going to happen, she railed at him mentally while realizing she would likely get stuck with paying alimony too.

Then her weakness began to subside. Kimberly knew now that she had options.

Okay, no attractive options, she surmised while rummaging through her thoughts, examining each of them one-by-one, but do-able, she stated to herself determinedly.

She pushed herself upright and every bone in her body ached. Her lungs hurt from fighting him for tiny amounts of oxygen. Kimberly wondered how many hours she had struggled with him tonight. With arms weak and limp at her sides, she succumbed once more,

Why didn’t you just do it this time, you fucktard? You could have spared both of us this, she yelled without sound at the blue light of the television flickering through the doorway, knowing he was passed-out drunk in front of it.

Kimberly slipped from her precarious perch on the edge of the bath tub to the cold, tile floor.

What the hell am I thinking, she questioned herself as she sat in a heap of wet clothing with limbs askew, Am I really thinking about… but she couldn’t finish that thought.

She crawled to the cupboard beneath the sink, opened the small door and reached inside, fumbling in the unlit interior until she grasped the items she sought.

With trembling hands she extracted his straight razor and his old, rolled-up belt. A small smile claimed her lips and she found renewed vigor. Kimberly placed the items in the sink and pulled herself up by the surrounding vanity.

Suddenly she realized that she was still in her stiletto heels. Kicking them off, she thought of how far away the night of fun and gayety with her friends seemed to be.

That was maybe, eight or twelve hours ago, she thought, staring at her haggard appearance in the mirror more closely, Seems like it’s been years.

At twenty eight years old, Kimberly looked forty years older than that and her rage was renewed.

“I – will – not – let – him – do – this – to – me,” she whispered haltingly at her reflection.

Grabbing up the razor and belt, she tucked them into her elbow holding them close to her side, and raced quietly past the bedroom where he sat, exactly as she knew he would. He was sprawled, with his head dangling to the side of the easy chair, with beer cans and a whiskey bottle strewn about the floor around it.

She stared at him for a second thinking, So unlike you. You’re gonna make this easy for me. Aren’t ya, dickwad?

Knowing she would lose her nerve in a moment of pause, Kimberly raced out to the garage and collected a large coil of rope and cut off a length of duct tape. She stuck the tape to her upper arm and got into the truck she had so carefully parked only hours before. She backed it into the driveway making sure to leave the keys in the ignition.

In a moment, she was standing in the soft glow of the porch light with her heart racing. She leaned down to grip her knees focused on slowing her breathing. When she realized that her dress was still damp, she was enraged anew.

In a shot, she was back at the bedroom padding in quietly, even knowing that dynamite wouldn’t wake the drunken shit. She laid the utensils on the ground, nearly tripping over an unseen bottle of half-empty Tequila, and set about the task at hand. Quickly, she wrapped the rope around him, effectively binding him to the La-Z-Boy recliner and bound his legs with the leather belt. She almost snickered, thinking,

Boy, you really missed your calling, you lazy fuck! You should have made commercials for La-Z-Boy!

She stifled a hateful smile and gingerly peeled the duct tape from her arm, then pressed it to his mouth and firmly anchored it behind his head.

He stirred from his alcohol-laden sleep to find himself immobilized. He struggled and tried to yell, as he had when he was trying to drown her. Kimberly bent down resolutely and picked up the straight razor. With a final, wounded-animal cry, using every ounce of pressure her tired arms would exert, she dragged the razor across his throat unleashing all her years of pent-up rage, screaming,

“Dooonnneee!”

By Wildfire8470

Wildfire8470

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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