The photograph would have more impact than even she thought possible... The Daily Slice
|She loved to walk on the moors in the rain. She loved the rain on her face and the feeling of being out there in the elements. She was alone, all alone. She lifted her face as the rain pelted down. It stung a little, of course, but it was worth the pain for the pleasure. She glanced around. Definitely no one in sight and there wouldn’t be while it was raining so hard. She quickly pulled off her boots and squished her bare toes in the sodden mass beneath her feet. The grass was cold and wet, and it sent a shiver all the way through her. She undid the buttons of her raincoat. She was naked underneath it and she lay it on the ground, and then lay down upon it completely bare. She stretched her arms and legs out, opened her mouth, and closed her eyes and felt the rain pounding her entire body. Heaven, she smiled.
After a while she turned over and the rain pelted down on the back of her thighs, her bum, her back,. She could feel the goose bumps from the cold, and turn over onto her back again. It was better this way. She reveled in it. It cleaned her, purified her, detoxicated her. The water below her ran red, as it cleaned the blood from her body. It pounded so hard, that even the blood that had caked in the creases were soon washed free. She wiped her face, her neck, checked her hands. No tell-tale red anywhere to be seen.
The rain finally stopped, and she sat up disappointed, her mouth pouting a little. Too soon, too soon, she thought. Her body jerked as she realized that if the rain had stopped, it would bring people out and she quickly stood and pulled her coat back on, doing up the buttons all the way and then pulled on her boots.
Even with the rain over, she still felt clean... and free. Better than she had in a long time. She didn’t care that she was naked underneath - with her overweight body, with its potbelly and cellulite on her buttocks and flabby thighs. She laughed to herself. The sight of her naked body probably shocked Glynnis more than the knife had. She was glad she had chosen to use a knife rather than the gun. She enjoyed plunging the knife into Glynnis’s skinny body. It resisted at first, she had to push through the skin, but after that it was easy - apart from all the blood. Who would have thought such a skinny body could hold so much blood. It had gushed out of Glynnis throat and had made her feel quite nauseous – stabbing her in the chest and stomach hadn’t been quite so bloody.
It was all very well for Joe to say she was fat, but it was her body weight that had made it easy to overcome Glynnis. Actually, on second thoughts it wasn’t her weight that had done it. It was the photograph. The photograph of Joe – HER Joe, her husband - and not Glynnis’s lover.
He’d been asleep on the couch, snoring loud enough to wake the dead, his mouth hanging open, no doubt exhausted from his shenanigans with Glynnis the night before. He thought she didn’t know but she knew. He’d come home reeking of her cheap perfume, the smell of sex all over him, so that she would want to throw up. She was ready to just ignore it though, until she saw the texts on his phone. That bitch wanted Joe to leave her, for Glynnis. That’s when she allowed the jealousy to consume her, to overwhelm her to the point of no return. As Joe lay there asleep, she fetched his own gun from the bedroom and came downstairs and shot him. He woke at the last minute and tried to get up, so the bullet exploded into his face. She did throw up then. His blood and brains and bits of bone were all over her. She had to strip off naked and that’s when she put on her raincoat and boots. But first she took a photo with the Polaroid that they hardly ever used. He was barely recognizable, except for the earring that she knew Glynnis had given him. Glynnis would know it was Joe. And she did. She screamed and cried and begged. Until Mavis started stabbing her - over and over and over again.
She pulled the photo out of her pocket, and threw it into the breeze. The wind caught it and it danced and swirled along up and over the heather out of sight. The rain started again and now Mavis hurried to get back home. She had to get rid of Joe’s body. As she walked along quickly, she stepped on the slippery photograph, which skidded out from under her foot. She fell on her back, her heavy body hitting the ground solidly, and her head impacting with a rock. The blood slowly pooled out from beneath her head, reaching but not destroying the photo of Joe as it seemed to point a long red finger of accusation.