Inky Waters
I couldn’t believe she was gone. Such a young, beautiful woman, plucked from the world before life had even gained momentum. Not that she was perfect – but who was? That girl had stolen the thing most precious to me, charmed it from my grasp, tainted what had once been. I don’t suppose she deserved her fate, though.
My husband. Perhaps I shouldn’t have given him an ultimatum. Maybe that’s what pushed him over the edge. As I stand here at the canalside, watching as the inky fluid laps carelessly over her resting place, I contemplate what last sights and sounds she might have experienced. I wonder if she held onto any shreds of consciousness as she sunk to the bottom like a lead weight.
It wasn’t unimaginable. My husband certainly had a temper. Anyone who knew him would be able to picture an argument getting out of hand, his strong physique bursting with adrenaline. Things must have escalated. He must have lost control, his callused digits squeezing the life out of the girl, thrusting her limp body into the canal in a final surge of anger.
Emerging from my thoughts, I notice I am wringing my hands. Cold and dry in the grey, wintery air, they still feel the ebbing pulse, the writhing of her body. Even in those last moments, I still remember how disgusted I was at the feel of her flawless skin against my own.
I’d never raised a finger to anyone before. I was petite and feminine, renowned for my glowing smile and welcoming arms. I’d been with Mother all day. Well, most of the day. Mother certainly hadn’t missed me.
So, husband dear, I guess it was down to you.
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© 2015 Ruth Hayward – This material may not be copied in whole or in part without the prior written consent of the author. Please contact the author here to request permission to duplicate.
Ruth Hayward 