A story I had to make for school...

The sound of records for decades forgotten droned in the background, the scratchy voice crooned past walls of faded pictures. My hand lightly gripping the glass of brandy that sat upon the end table. The thoughts fluttered through my head, butterflies landing then approaching flight once again, obstructing my clarity. It was a Tuesday. June 17th 1987, five years after his death, his memory haunts me to this day, weighing down on me through the past. He can’t truly touch me beyond his grave and that keeps me more or less sane. Becoming aware of the protruding silence, I rocked myself forward to get out of my seat, joints and back aching to resist the movement, to return to the record player. I walk past the pictures lining the room, one catching my eye. It is an old photo; I dressed in white and him in his suit. The crack grazed across the glass, splitting and dividing until it reached the frame. I couldn’t stand to look at the picture any longer and pushed it over like I have many times before. The day kept swaying from good to bad as I listened to the songs of long ago.

Awakening in a cold sweat, I gasp out for what oxygen could be left in the room as my dread grasped me by the neck. His presence pressed down on me and held me flat. Telling me that he would be back to get me for what I had done. With a fairly parched throat and shaking hands, I rise out of bed and head towards the bathroom for a drink. I guzzle the water from the cup stained with tooth paste on the lip. I look into the mirror to convince myself that there wasn’t a large shadow looming over on me. The light buzzed and sputtered above, then with a flash brighter than sight allowed. Popping loudly, it left me alone in the dark. My eyes darted wildly scanning for the scarcest beam of light that was left. Nothing. A thread slithered across my shoulder and caused me to swat manically at the source and hit something solid. Screaming and turning quickly, the sensation of weightlessness overcomes and a cold strike presses down on my shoulder. Feeling light headed and fading, presence came over me once more. Frank had done this to me.

Days following my attack swam by leaving me in ripples of insanity. Frank did this. The musty smell of the room filling my lungs and dulling the time into a daze. Alcohol dripped down my throat as I gazed outward to the street. The neighbor girl sauntered down the sidewalk. Frank once cheated. He picked the most dressed up girl and took her to where the night out shone the day. She was his kind of girl. She stole his heart. I couldn’t stand it. Walking over to the door I called out, “Dear, could you possibly help me lift something. Age has seemed to have gotten the better of me,” and with a quick reply she headed towards my house. I looked around to see if I could find something that could pose me a challenge on most days. “Could you hand me that pan from on top of the fridge?” She found her way to the fridge but couldn’t make it to the back, near the pan sitting precariously near the side. While she drug over the closest chair, I shuffled to the drawer to pull out what I had left of the roll of plastic wrap. Getting off the chair with the glass pan, I came up behind her with the thin sheet pulled between my withered fingers. Moving as fast as my body would let me; I swung the roll in front of her face and pulled it around in a circular motion, tightening it to her features. A shot from an elbow struck me in the sternum sending me back into the wall sending the taste of blood into my mouth. I watched as her painted nails clawed to the places on her face where the green plastic clung. This went for a while, her stumbling across the room and knocking various objects across the room to shatter musically against the floor. She collapsed like a discolored ragdoll onto the linoleum, shuddering once or twice before she ceased movement. Getting up with the remaining strength I had left, I moved to her body. There was a perpetual look of shock left and I couldn’t stand to look at it. Dragging her by the wrist, I led the body to the top of the basement stairs. Nudging with my foot I sent her down. I clasped sides of my head hoping the sound of her falling couldn’t whisper through to my mind. The sound was all too familiar to me already. Crawling to the floor, all I could think was ‘She can’t hurt anyone’s marriage anymore… not the way Frank has.’ as the tears streamed down the crevices of my ashen face.

A week had passed since the girl had made her way to my basement. Sometimes I can hear her scream at night, shaking the vary walls of my room. I couldn’t stay asleep for more than a few hours for fear he may return again. Time drones by in an endless steam; never slowing, never resting. It was a Wednesday evening when I drove myself to the closest convenient store. The line had only one other person in it, a man about mid 40’s. He had been arguing with the cashier for quite some time. “I don’t care whether your manager doesn’t allow checks! I don’t have any cash on me.” His tone sounded much like the one that was used on me. Arguments have been exchanged with Frank many times before, leaving bruises on my arms and legs. After things were paid for with the numerous coupons in my hand bag, I caught up with the man in the parking lot. “Excuse me, but could you help me with my car door? It seems to be having trouble getting open.”
He glanced at the car then to me with a quizzical look but apparently shrugged it off and said “Sure, that’s quite the old model you got there.” We walked over and he put his focus on the driver’s side door. It wasn’t really shut badly; the handle was a bit tricky and required a bit of wiggling. He didn’t seem to take overly long to find a way to open it by eventually placing a solid foot on the door and summoning enough might to pull it open forcefully.
“Could you do me another favor and look on the ground? I dropped a pen there earlier and can’t seem to locate it,” I said as I maneuvered towards the front of the vehicle. He got down onto the dingy concrete sticking his hand into the metal bars and oily carpeting on the bottom of the interior. With an instantaneous shudder I dove onto the front of the door, watching the blur of the heavy door land its solid mass on top of neck. The melodic sound of a snap, he slithered to the ground, eyes open staring into the distance. I then spotted the wallet that slipped from his jacket pocket as it flipped open like a folded newspaper. Glimmering back at me was a trio of smiles; the man, his wife and daughter. He had a family. I heaped myself into the car and drove off in a distressed mentality, leaving the man for someone else to care for. ‘Was his anger deserving?’ I thought to myself.

The sound of the records echoed through the house, wafting at the dust that lamented tops of surfaces in the home. I stood there with my brandy in one hand as I stood on the stool with my rope companion around my neck. Franks voice shouted through the music and my stupor into my heart, my attempts failing to the memory of my husband’s rage. Even after death he held me like an insect on his palm, controlling me. He owned me, even beyond the grave. I took my final step forward and made my way out from under his pressure.