Cobwebs………By Sami Khalil
He disentangled himself from the business party (his
alibi), sashaying off to catch his wife in the act, averting any suspicion.
Rehearsals in his mind searched for faces; a friend, an unknown or a neighbor
of his.
Lately behaving strangely, they had all weighed on him
with gloom. The husband had stifled not perfect opportunities to watch her
drift off into another man’s arms. His face was taut with fear, within
sedentary motives, that sloped down the snowy trails of an Olympic kind. His
sadness, wedged between no trust and mid-life crisis, graduated unto the
foothills of depression. He had enough of her trysts, which made him glower at
accusations. He thought, “If I can’t have her to myself, no one can.”
Women can be unpredictable for sure, but so do men in an
inkling solidity. But we like to always blame “The other” in sheer futility.
Intensely frustrated, and yearning for deliverance, he
tucked the pistol inside his coat, disembarking on the evil plot at hand. His
feet were clacking at the wet pavement, until he approached their house,
removing them for quietness. Induced with alcohol and lacking of sleep, he knew
to find her in his bed with the wicked boyfriend. It was winter, and the skies
were embroidered with broken clouds, above copper and russet leaves of husky
trees. He drew his pistol, after stealthily walking in, spraying her by a
bullet after another in the dark, but never a partner at all, when he turned
the lights on.
He tottered towards the bed, only to find her dead from
something else that happened before. What an outright idiot to have done such a
thing, and what a millstone around his neck now. She had left him a note by her
bed stating:” By the time you discover and read this note, I’ll be long gone.
I’m tired of your accusations. No amendments will save this marriage of ours. I
decided to take a poison pill. Have a nice life.”
He realized that he was rifled from all happiness where
misery surged through him, darkening the room on impact. He shot himself!
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