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by Ginger
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Action/Adventure · #2244027
She got tired of being the victim!
With a ragged old cloth, Miranda vigorously oiled her horses’ bridle in the decrepit ghostly grey barn that was about to be demolished in the next week. She had a new barn being erected in the adjacent pasture and she grew impatient waiting for the construction workers to leave. She had been overseeing the project from day one and knew that the concrete was being poured today and would be set tonight, which made her sadistic plan that much easier.
She stepped away from the bridle and arched her back which in turn talked to her in a mean way.
“I’m too old for this crap. All of it. And that is why it ends tonight.”
She looked over at the raven bags she had carefully re-bagged 4 times and sealed it with a Mylar, waterproof, scent proof black bag.
“This my precious is for all of the hell you put me through”.
She perched her knee on a hay bale and looked out to the sleepy sun that was just heading south. Old memories frolicked in her head. The romance that started out fast and whirlwind, fun and exciting only ended up as the nightmare she never prepared for. Once the honeymoon of first love wore off, his true colors bled through in streaks of grey and black rolling down her life at a rapid rate. A manipulator that was able to weasel his way through his most evil moments able to shine like a diamond in the end. Her head began to flood with thoughts of the abuse that became her daily life. The chairs to the head, machetes threatening her throat if she didn’t obey, the passing out during chokings, and the busted-up faces. Images of blood, broken noses and blacked eyes fueled her anger. She would never understand how she could come to the conclusion that he was a true penny of any sort, ever. He caused her to lose everything, including her children, more than once. She recalled the memory where she was given her final eviction notice.
“Let me tell you this, you self-loathing deadbeat! If I lose this home, it will be the end.”
And in fact, the loss was handed to her, and she walked away once again from her current life. With her belongings in storage, getting ready to be auctioned, she made her plan.
She smiled after her thoughts guided their way back to the moment at hand. Last night, a call rang through her home. She had just finished her strawberry and raspberry salad and was on the chaise drinking a glass of cabernet.
“Guess who?” said the male voice on the other end.
“Gee, Frank, I give up.?”
He proceeded to explain how he was in on business and he wasn’t far. Maybe a little rendezvous? Frank had moved states and gotten remarried a couple of years earlier, no one should suspect he was there, and he would not dare tell his wife. She entertained the thought happily, it had been a while since she had had a lover, even if it was her ex. He was willing to make the trek by foot.
What could go wrong? Surely after two years they could get along..let bygones be bygones…
Unfortunately, Frank was never good at alcohol, and when the conversations conjured the memories of the past the man that stood before her raged and belittled her on how she was the failure in their marriage. His anger frightened her. He once again beat and battered her with licks to the face. Her adrenaline was running fervently bringing her to an emotion she had never felt before. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be the victim this time. He was. She grabbed the machete from the side of the refrigerator, and with the adrenaline of fire, she raised it up and sliced it through the air, the weapon landing on the left side of his torso spewing blood like a fountain. She stepped back gasping for air while the carnage dropped to the floor.
The sky was evanescent now, and she was eager to get the lifeless corpse buried. With the workers gone now, she hoisted the bags into the large muck wagon and hauled them across the pasture to the new barn landing. If anyone was observing her movements all she had to say was she was working on the new structure. Questions wouldn’t be asked though, because she hardly had any neighbors and the ones she did have weren’t nosy. She took in a deep breath. The machete first. Weighted down with a 10lb barbell, she gently eased scythe into the wet cement of the post not to make a mess. Another smug look raced across her face. It sunk to the bottom. Onto post number two, which was larger and more accommodating for a dead body. That dead body of her ex-husband.
With a heave, she pushed his corpse into the pool of cement, attached to a 30lb weight this time. She waited for a minute and cleaned up the splash of cement off her chaps and boots. She didn’t need any evidence anywhere, so she also cleaned up what splashes were made with the dump, and took a deep sigh of relief. No sign of the body returning and the barn was clean as a whistle. By morning the cement would be hard as a rock, and no one would have the slightest inkling.
She hauled the wagon back to the old barn, hosed the wagon clean, and proceeded to the house. Finding her favorite bottle of Hahn cabernet, and poured a glass in their old wedding crystal. She leaned against the counter and looked out over the pastures pondering her peaceful future.
“I think I just completed the perfect murder”.
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