The Last Straw

‘There’s too much flesh,’ I mutter as I survey my handy work.
‘You should have thought of that,’ my husband tells me in that “I told you so” manner he has that I have grown to loathe. ‘If you’d have thought things through properly you would have taken that into account.’
‘Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?’ I moan.
‘Show off. You always thought you were so much better than me.’
‘Never,’ I correct him as I study the body before me.
‘At least I know you’re quoting Lady Macbeth. Which, if you ask me, I find very apt.’
‘You can shut up. Shut up!’ I stamp my foot, but the warm sticky blood reduces the effect I had hoped for. ‘If you’d shut up in the first place I wouldn’t be in this mess,’ I tell him.
‘You’re in a mess? What about me? At least your mess will come out in the wash which is more than can be said for me.’
‘O that this too too solid flesh would melt,’ I sigh.
‘Good God! Am I to become a Shakespearian tragedy?’ he snarls. ‘That would just suit you, wouldn’t it?’
‘As you won’t melt, I suppose I’ll have to cut you up. You won’t fit in the freezer in this state.’
‘If it was up to me, I wouldn’t choose to go in the freezer in any state,’ hubby whines.
I leave my husband lying on the floor of the blood splattered wet room and go in search of some sort of blade. The one I stabbed him with isn’t strong enough for sawing through bone and sinew. I find nothing suitable.
‘Where have you left the saw, you miserable old bastard?’ I weep.
‘As if I’d tell you,’ he sniggers. ‘You’ll only saw me up for dog food if I did.’
‘You never put anything away. You just leave your stuff around and then pinch mine from my hobby bag. The freezer’s too good for you.’ I am crying openly now.
‘You should have put your tools ready before you started the job,’ he quotes me at me in a put-on whiney voice. ‘Isn’t that what you are always telling me?’
That really makes me see red. The claw hammer is to hand so I smack it into his mouth to stop the prattle. Then I smack it into his eyes so he can’t see what I’m doing. I just hammer away at him because he has annoyed me so much. I hammer away until I feel all my frustrations leak over the floor and mingle with the blood drying on the tiles. I hammer away until I am exhausted and empty. I drop the hammer and head towards the kitchen where I flick the switch on the kettle. If I do something different – take my mind from the task – I might remember where the saw is hiding.
A nice cup of tea will help.

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