A short story for The Writer's Cramp Contest.
|No amount of scrubbing would ever wash away the memory, I thought to myself. A mess all over the floor. I can scrub away the stain, but I will still remember what happened. How it was all her fault. She is to be blamed for this. I wouldn't have done it, if she didn't get me so mad. If she didn't start an argument with me, I would have not made such a mess. I don't normally act this crazy, when I am mad, but she pushed me to the limit. As I continued to clean, I started to calm down, and soon realized that it was not her fault. I overreacted, and now I regret my actions. If only I could take them back. I wish I was not on the floor cleaning this mess. This really terrible mess. I should have just talked to her, and not get so angry. I made a mistake, and now I feel really bad.
"Honey, you missed a spot, under the stove," my wife told me.
"Thanks. And, I am sorry for throwing dinner on the floor. I got really angry and lost it. You know I am not like that. I just had a long day, that is all."
"Yea, you did, but it's ok, and you were right. I should have called to let you know I was working late."
"Still, I should've controlled my anger and not have thrown the dinner on the floor."
"Look, in the future I will definitely call or text, to let you know I am coming home late."
"That would be nice," I said to her.
"Do you want any help?" she asked.
"No, I made the mess, I will clean it up. Why don't you order a pizza, while I still clean the floor," I said to her.
"Ok, that sounds fine. You know, with all that red sauce on the floor, it looks like a murder scene," my wife says while laughing a little.
"Yes...a murder scene indeed," I laughed as glared at her while she walked away.