May 27, 2011

i wanted a crash with fire. with heat that sizzled the paint off the car and the skin off his hands.

Prompt:  Good, evil, gray

I dreamt of his death. But that didn’t make me the villain in this story. I did, though, long for the phone to ring. For someone to tell me of some terrible accident. A crash, maybe. But not an ordinary crash, I wanted a crash with fire. With heat that sizzled the paint off the car and the skin off his hands. Or a flood. Being swept along for miles, then hanging onto a tree branch, the current pulling relentlessly, remorselessly, his biceps burning, and knowing in that moment that his fingers slipped off, he would drink death.

I became the villain in the moment when I stopped dreaming of his death and began planning his death. The wishing away of someone, that can’t be such a mortal sin, can it? Because that is just a malevolent wish—perhaps that an overlarge boulder should ease itself loose from the edge of the cliff that overhung the road he drove on his way home and that it should happen at exactly the moment that would mean it would fall on him and him alone, with such force that his bones would splinter and pulverize and mix with his blood and skin and lung tissue. And that the ligaments that held his bones to bones, and the tendons adhering muscles to bones, should snap and pop audibly. Snap! Out loud!

But that was just a wish, and mere wishes are not plans, and wishes, especially wishes of such absurd specificity, are neither likely to come to pass, nor punishable, should they come to pass. The worst I would have been accused of, should he become muscle and tendon and bone porridge, was being prescient.

When I began designing ways that my wishes might be brought about, that was the moment I gave over to the darkness and became the fishwife, foul-speaking murder. No longer were these just gruesome and poetic wishes, but instead, they became crude and inelegant plans, as if I were trying to build a life raft from broken kitchen chairs, long braids cut from the heads of little blonde girls, and the damp boxes that lettuce is delivered in. That was when I gave over to the darkness.

12 comments:

Stu said...

Great imagery.

Remind me not to cross you...

-Stu

Trish said...

I've been known to give over to the darkness but not as eloquently. I used a voodoo doll. And ran it over with a car. Dang.

Scout said...

Wow. This is wonderful in a very dark way. "Sometimes Dolores, an accident can be an unhappy woman's best friend"—Stephen King

Cheri @ Blog This Mom!® said...

I think that the average reasonable ex-wife has at one time or another has had such feelings, although you are braver and more eloquent and colorful in your expression of them than most.

Also? The three comments above mine are the three best comments I've ever read.

Finally? "Reasonable ex-wife" is not an oxymoron. At all.

thesailor... now married said...

Got a message about an overdue rental from Uhaul on my phone for YOU. Please refrain from using my phone number as an alternate contact. Esp. since I no longer live in the San Diego area and don't know how to get ahold of you.

Kate said...

Your name is not The Sailor. We renamed you Satan The Sailor Man. Obv. The U-Haul is on your name. I left it somewhere in City Heights.

TheSailor ... now married said...

FRM:717082_gm@uhaul.com
MSG:Shannon Wheeler has an overdue U-Haul rental. Please contact 858-271-7753 and reference contract # 23274452.

Obv. It isn't.

Cheri @ Blog This Mom!® said...

"now married" should read "was still married"

Fake divorce decree? Check. Fake diamond. Check. Fake married? Obv.

TheSailor ...now married said...

Actually; marriages are public record. Look it up yourself. And have nothing to prove. Just letting Kate know it's HER that they are looking for.

FYI - divorce was real, not finalized due to the other party
Ring was real and was meant
Was your cattiness and etc that made it worse. After all, I did care and do many things because I did. Vase, bike, furniture, etc

Kate said...

I left the bike, the vase and the furniture in the back of the UHaul in City Heights in your name.

thesailor... now married said...

I could have emailed you at the address on this blog, but I keep leaving comments because I still want attention and you. Obv.

Trish. said...

Awesome. Satan the sailor (god bless his poor fake wife) has resurfaced? Quick. Somebody get me a voodoo doll.

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