Categories > Original > Drama
Not Only Women Bleed
2 reviewsA woman lies in bed next to her husband and decides to kill him/
0Unrated
Sheila lay there in the dark next to her husband. Being married for fifteen years, the sex had just become a routine act that she did not enjoy anymore. She knew she did not love him now. Their life together was wonderful for the first few years of their marriage....then it went sour as milk left in a hot fridge for a month. Now their marriage just festered.
Sheila wondered how she had put up with Ronnie, her husband, for all these years. She should be dead a million times over due to the beatings she recieved from the hands of Ronnie. She had to be admitted into the hospital because of them, though some of the made-up excuses ranged from falling down the stairs to falling out of bed. God knows how many injuries she endured these fifteen years.
It was not just the beatings she was fed up with. It was also the lies and the late nights out. Ronnie would sometimes not come home until three in the morning. He would come into the bedroom with alcohol on his breath. Sheila hated to smell that stench because of two reasons: first, it was disgusting; and second, it was a precursor to an arguement that would lead to the beating.
Sheila just could not understand why he treated her like shit. She fed him dinner and did everything she could. She just wanted an even break. Every other night she would lay down and cry alone. That was too often. So, right then and there, Sheila decided that she had bled enough for HIM. She was going to make him bleed.
She slowly, carefully got out of the bed, as to not wake Ronnie. Sheila tiptoed across the red carpeted floor. As she passed a wedding photo of theirs,she stopped and took a long glance at it. She remembered the good times: their honeymoon, vacations, romantic nights. But the bad times outweighed the good.
Every light in the house was off, so Sheila had to be careful not to bump into anything. The hard part was getting down the stairs into the kitchen. She caused a few squeeks that made her heart race and her ears perk up. She just heard Ronnie stir, a little bit disturbed by the tiny noise. Sheila finally made it to the kitchen. It was slightly lit by the street lights outside, so she could make out where the knife drawer was. She picked out the butcher knife and slowly made her way back up the squeeky stairs.
The fear of him waking up caught up to her and her heart almost brust from her chest. To make it easier, Sheila thought, I should use it on myself instead. But she quickly shoved that thought away. She progressed into the bedroom and stood at the doorway and watched Ronnie. He slowly inhaled and exhaled. Sheila slowly walked towards his side of the bed. She stared at his face, now wrinkled with age. Sheila held the knife in a death grip and lifted it above her head. She attempted two times but just could not bring it down into his chest. Breathing in and out, she raised the knife one more time and thrusted it down into Ronnie's chest.
He awoke with a terror in his eyes and a horrid scream. He shrieked his lungs out. Ronnie fell out of the bed clutching his chest, trying to get to the phone on the nightstand. Before he reached it, Sheila let the knife pierce his back over and over again. Blood splattered the curtains and the bed; but the floor remained the crimson color it had always been. As Ronnie died, Sheila laid a kiss upon his cooling lips and whispered, "Not only women bleed, my love."
Sheila wondered how she had put up with Ronnie, her husband, for all these years. She should be dead a million times over due to the beatings she recieved from the hands of Ronnie. She had to be admitted into the hospital because of them, though some of the made-up excuses ranged from falling down the stairs to falling out of bed. God knows how many injuries she endured these fifteen years.
It was not just the beatings she was fed up with. It was also the lies and the late nights out. Ronnie would sometimes not come home until three in the morning. He would come into the bedroom with alcohol on his breath. Sheila hated to smell that stench because of two reasons: first, it was disgusting; and second, it was a precursor to an arguement that would lead to the beating.
Sheila just could not understand why he treated her like shit. She fed him dinner and did everything she could. She just wanted an even break. Every other night she would lay down and cry alone. That was too often. So, right then and there, Sheila decided that she had bled enough for HIM. She was going to make him bleed.
She slowly, carefully got out of the bed, as to not wake Ronnie. Sheila tiptoed across the red carpeted floor. As she passed a wedding photo of theirs,she stopped and took a long glance at it. She remembered the good times: their honeymoon, vacations, romantic nights. But the bad times outweighed the good.
Every light in the house was off, so Sheila had to be careful not to bump into anything. The hard part was getting down the stairs into the kitchen. She caused a few squeeks that made her heart race and her ears perk up. She just heard Ronnie stir, a little bit disturbed by the tiny noise. Sheila finally made it to the kitchen. It was slightly lit by the street lights outside, so she could make out where the knife drawer was. She picked out the butcher knife and slowly made her way back up the squeeky stairs.
The fear of him waking up caught up to her and her heart almost brust from her chest. To make it easier, Sheila thought, I should use it on myself instead. But she quickly shoved that thought away. She progressed into the bedroom and stood at the doorway and watched Ronnie. He slowly inhaled and exhaled. Sheila slowly walked towards his side of the bed. She stared at his face, now wrinkled with age. Sheila held the knife in a death grip and lifted it above her head. She attempted two times but just could not bring it down into his chest. Breathing in and out, she raised the knife one more time and thrusted it down into Ronnie's chest.
He awoke with a terror in his eyes and a horrid scream. He shrieked his lungs out. Ronnie fell out of the bed clutching his chest, trying to get to the phone on the nightstand. Before he reached it, Sheila let the knife pierce his back over and over again. Blood splattered the curtains and the bed; but the floor remained the crimson color it had always been. As Ronnie died, Sheila laid a kiss upon his cooling lips and whispered, "Not only women bleed, my love."
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