SJG – an old / new author's blog.

“Come on, Marie.” I dragged her from the chair.

Twelve stone, my arse. Always dieting, she was; always complaining and drinking her gin, now slumped in the garden with a wet mouth and puffy eyes.

I resumed my grip beneath her arms, supporting her weight. “That’s marriage,” I supposed.

Later, I breathed in the silence.

The seat was hard without any padding. I had to laugh, that sounded a lot like divorce. I didn’t really mind.

“To you, Marie,” I toasted the night air.

I’d had to bury the cushion when I’d buried her. I’d used it to suffocate Marie.

Garden Night

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: