He gripped the pistol against his chest, sweat dripping off his forehead. Why did he knock? Had he relinquished his key after the roaster pan incident? At least he’d had the foresight to substitute enamel for my neck. Now I stood frozen at the door. This is how it happens: estranged husband commits a homicide/suicide in a jealous rage. I don’t remember how I convinced him in my terror to hand me the gun. Maybe I called a friend to come get him. Maybe the friend took the gun. Maybe someone was shot dead on the other side of town.
2 Comments
Sue Clayton
22/6/2024 05:37:58 am
Mysterious.
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Cheryl Dahlstrand
22/6/2024 04:56:39 pm
If only the gun could be taken and twisted!
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