|A loud noise, inconspicuous. You can’t discern what’s being said. Breaking of glasses, barking of a dog. Screamings and swearings. When you move closer to the window, you get to see what’s going on inside the house. They’re fighting. Nothing surprising with that. They fight all the time, especially for the past couple of days. But something is different today. Maybe they’ve reached a closure - a resolution to the days and nights they’ve spent fighting.
Their eyes are red with rage, the veins in their necks swollen, their jaws clenched. If they fall silent for a moment, you’d hear the grinding of teeth. ‘Is that what you’ve got to say?’ Silence. ‘Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me it wasn’t you whom I saw that night.’ Silence. ‘Look at me!’ Silence is the answer again; a silence that speaks more than words. ‘Get out of my house.’ No movement. Then follows the apologies and promises - hollow and unconvincing. ‘I said, get out of my house!’ A scream so loud and assertive that it could make a rock move from its place.
He leaves the house, slamming the door behind him. I hide behind the bushes. He walks to his car and kicks the front tire. He punches the windshield. He turns around. The door opens and a rucksack hits his face.