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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2025517-My-Wife
by rough
Rated: E · Fiction · Other · #2025517
Part of my novel
It was a bright sunny day, wind was tickling my face and I was on a walk through an alley. There were an array of deciduous trees and the sound of their leaves rattling in the wind made to think of the heated conversation that I had with my wife few hours ago at the house. I do love my wife, and I need to save her, I need to find out what is really going on with her, how she thinks and what really bothers her, because of my pure love to her, I am willing to sacrifice my own life to help her deal with her issues. The moment I proposed to her I realized that its not going to be about me anymore, it's going to be about her and most importantly about our children. And even if I come home tired after work and I would want to relax on the sofa and watch some pointless TV shows, I will always think back to the moment I proposed to her, deprived her of her independence, ruined her beautiful body for our handsome son, so now when I am on my sofa watching TV and I don't feel like helping her, well that is just wrong of me. I should help her with trash, do dishes, and present a romantic atmosphere around the house for her, because it's not about me anymore. But through heated argument like the one that we just had, I somehow forgot that it's all about her and I called her a bitch and stormed out of the house thinking that I was right. It was wrong of me, I realize that now when I rethink my thought process back to my rule #1: It's not about me anymore. Or perhaps there is some deeper meaning that I am missing; my gut feeling tells me that I have to dig a little further.

So I turned around and went back to the house. As I approached the house, I see crazed fat man running out of the house with blood on his arms, legs and head. I try stopping him, but he keeps on running and screaming: "get out of here." But my wife is in the house; I thought to myself; I need to rescue her. So without hesitation, I run towards the door, open it, and I see a swarm of bees flying around what appears to be my wife. With bees biting my skin to bare bone I preceded towards the chair, no matter what I will get the chair I told myself. In pain and fatigue, I get to the chair only to find out that it was I sitting in that chair. Without love, I would have never reached the chair.


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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2025517-My-Wife