If I Cannot Have Her No One Will…#47

Murder – Suicide

(A short-short story)

The mad man looked around the room; the fog holding his mind captive obscured his visions of the scene before him.  He was human, intellectual, yet unable to cope with the naked truth; that he was a monster to his wife and children.  He expected perfection from his wife, tranquility, infinity of pleasure.  His children he ruled with an iron fist. 

He stood in the bedroom where the scent of her lingered in the air, the fight had started when she told him that she was leaving; that mentally she was already gone!  He picked up the phone dialing 911, stared at the gun in his hand and turned to look at the thick red liquid crawling across the floor from his wife’s body.  His children were all at school and would not be home for hours.   He did not care if they were first on the scene. Soon he would be gone too, they would be together forever; or so he thought when the deadly shot slammed into his face.

Days passed when the faceless man woke in ICU, his hands tied to the rails of the bed, life supports pump life saving air into his lungs. His children had been removed from the house of death to their grandparents. Blind, the man eventually was moved to the local mental hospital where he would remain the rest of his life reliving each day knowing that he and his wife were no longer together.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree        

Free…#9


Some of us live in a bubble of pride, immense loneliness, and at times both burdens to bear; somewhere along the way, many of us find that, there is not a reason to care.  From the nursery floor to walking upright, the goal is to soar like a bird in the tallest tree.  Many of us will forever stand alone, and alone we will fall from the darkest valley to the highest hill.  Somewhere in the night a shot rang out in the darkness, did anyone hear, does anyone care.  The only blood spilled was mine

Love and Peace

Elizabeth

Author’s Note:  My “bucket list”, I have written a simple line.  “Write a Mystery”! I am not under any spell that this is possible, yet I have the desire to try.  Next to that line is the paragraph above…it speaks of pride, loneliness and burdens.  Of wanting to soar like a bird…to get away from it all, it all covers the  abuse, the threat of being killed, and the final act of being killed.  A paragraph to build into a story.  Sometimes mystery books are nonfictional. “Mystery fiction” can be  stories in which the emphasis is on the puzzle or suspense element and its logical solution such as a whodunit.  The title “Free” and its contents is based on fact and fiction.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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Mississippi River Nightmare…#5


Uncovered and wrinkled is my sack, a gigantic hump on my

Back.  Frost clutches to these old rags, my body is covered

With burlap bags.

My flesh like ashes my face tinged with blue, my chest

Rattles, my lungs sucking in the morning dew.  I have

Traveled on the railroad back and forth, does not matter

Where, south or north.

I sometimes walk city streets when they are dark and dead,

The side of a railroad is where I make my bed.  I eat my

Food from old tin cans, I will steal candy from little hands.

I scream for the warmth I see coming from the riverbank,

A bright fire, from this cold I do tire.  I think that I am

Burning, I smell smoldering hair, my arms are thrashing about

 in the Air.

I see evil darkness, what is this madness, I feel spiritually ill,

Then, I gasp in horror when I realize that I am dead.  Here on

This cold and damp riverbank someone has severed my head.

Love and Peace

Elizabeth

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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