Blogtober Short Story Entry #2
The Good Wife
A cigarette dangling from her swollen lips dropped ashes along the arm of the recliner, unphased by the stench of garlic that fills the room. The tales this recliner could recount if only it had a mouth to speak. It’s shabby exterior held blood from many ass kickings, the attack that resulted in her only successful pregnancy, and the loss of that life she so cherished. It was time to burn this fucking chair, this house, and long overdue, this man who remained semi conscious while he could feel the flames as they blistered and crisp his once beautiful, unblemished skin. Yes, he was easy in the eyes, once a man with a kind hand, but now, he reeked, his body in various states of decomposition, and begged to die with his eyes.
Pari never planned to kill him, she simply wanted to leave, every time she tried, he outsourced her shame to the highest lowest bidder and watched. Eyes glazed and wide, he watched and laughed. His erection at the sight of her being pleasured by another man, despite her not being an active participant, faltered and was flaccid in seconds. His anger seething and her chance to now ridicule him by laughing hysterically while her naked body enjoying every thrust shone in the moonlit night. Yes, tonight, she would give him the show he desired, because this man, the one he paid to humiliate her, was the man helping her escape.
Cyrus, the man who hollowed the drum, built the pit, cut the wood, and ground the seasonings as he did daily at Cy’s, a food stop known for the best of smoked meats and sauces. A lonely man who lost his family to Hurricane Ivan, yet always friendly and concerned. She knew his intentions were pure, and she knew Robert would approach him, he had the gift of offering his wife to those with an unhealed wound in the heart and a cold bed. As she waited, she planned, and Cy supported her.
He never quite understand how a man could offer up his wife to the lowest bidder, it troubled him, he had watched Pari for years, her pretty face sullen, eyes hollow, hair disheveled. He knew something was wrong, but he never imagined this. So how, as a man, could he refuse to help her…. Carefully, small slits and cloves of garlic inserted, scotch bonnet peppers stuffed, a blend of thyme and bandanna, pink Himalayan salt and olive oil is generously massaged into skin. He lowers the meat into the pit, lights the wood, and covers it with the drum, smoke billowing and the aroma of jerked meats fills the night air. He pushes the gas, and slowly, he leaves.
Pari sits in the recliner, spent, smelling of smoke and seasoning, closing her eyes for the last time. Death, a close friend, and one she knows well.
Much love from the brown girl, exploring my dark side, sharing short stories for Blogtober! Keep writing, even if no one is reading ❤️
Nyri~The Unnerved Traveler