by Bob'n Around
Invisible matters of the mind turned real into the written word.
|Daily SCREAMS!!! win
“Looks like, last night it rained marble.”
Harriet didn’t even twitch. Her coffee barely shivered in her cup. Henry had been acting strange lately. The most common phrases became garbled when slipping forth from his tongue.
“That right, dear? Good thing we weren’t outside. That would be a shattering experience.” She quipped. Humor had become her best defense against loss of stability and the sanity of her beloved husband.
The look on Henry’s bland expressionless face was a non sequitur to her statement. All humor had evaporated from where it belonged. “Stone cold killer sniffing out there. Want butter on your toast?” His voice sounded gravelly, low pitched, threatening and mean.
The hand clutching his breakfast fork lost egg on its way to his mouth, turned, and stabbed down into the back of his other hand. Blood spilled out into a weeping pool around his outstretched fingertips. “Gosh, darn it. Good thing I’m right handy, isn’t it, babe. Look how I can fork it over when I want.”
Harriet fought the urge to leap to her feet and out of the room. “Stop grinning like that. This isn’t funny. You’ve lost your marbles, Henry. I mean it.” Her own voice was shrill with fright. If he could do that to himself and not flinch, what craziness might happen next. Words were one thing. Blood was entirely another.
Henry flinched, not at what he had done to himself, at her tone. “I guess you don’t want to spoon, you mealy mouthed bitch, and I thought I might get to home plate with you. I guess you’re not in the mood.” Both fists slammed on the top of the table. The one with the fork vibrating in it waved at her as her husband lifted up the edge and flipped breakfast all over the floor.
The two stared at each other for an agonizing second. Cold sweat drenched Harriet’s back of her neck, ran down between her breasts and flowed from her armpits. “Touch me, you are one dead son of a bitch, Henry Adams.”
By reflex, there appeared one of Harriet’s heavy cast iron cookware held in place in swinging position by one lace covered shoulder. Henry liked her in lace and she liked seeing that in his eyes. Now, there was madness and murder reflected in his gaze.
Her eyes darted to the out of reach phone where it slid across the floor from its usual perch on the breakfast table. Henry made his move.
His face meeting the first swing of her homemade weapon was a smashing success. It knocked Henry’s nose clear up into his brain pan. He dropped in his tracks without saying another crazy word. She had killed him and knew it.
Thoughts of a black balled thready tumor flashed through her mind. “Self defense. I had to do it.” She carefully set down the gore coated cast iron skillet with her usual loving care. Her life felt unhinged. Harriet walked like an automaton, stepping over Henry, her steps taking her to the back closet. “I have to clean up. I can’t have anyone seeing Henry this way.”
Along the way, the heel of her naked left sole kicked her phone into buzzing life. “Hello? Harriet? Is that you?”
Harriet leaned over to pick up reality. She heard, “Thank God you called. Something crazy is going on. Ralph just attacked me.”
“Are you O.K?” It was their neighbor and Harriet’s best friend put on speed dial.
“I barricaded myself in our bedroom. He was talking drivel mixed with awful things he wanted to do to me. He forced his way in. I shot him. I think he is dead.”
“Looks like last night it rained more than marble,” Harriet murmured, staring at the carnage around her. “I’ll be right over.” She put on her frumpy housecoat she hadn’t worn in ages. Henry liked silky things under his touch. She didn’t want to feel that remembrance.
The calls began coming in among the neighborhood network of women. The sound of crying children was raised in the background of some but the focus among all was the same. All the men had gone crazy. They were all dead. All of it happened overnight after peaceful sleep next to their women in their shared beds.
Calls to the police and hospitals went unanswered, swamped by busy signals. Recorded messages asked to please stand by. The news channels and social media flickered into uncertain being with a colder surreal reality than anyone left alive wanted to listen to. The evidence was already much to close at hand. Any male over the age of puberty was no more. Whatever had happened had affected them all, in every country in the world.
That wasn’t the worst of things. The whole animal kingdom had experienced the same loss. The female of each species had no time to mourn. It was time to set things straight. Men had had their time at ruling the world. Now the real work could begin.