By Dick Johnson
Sweat dripped down his face as he watched his house. This wasn’t the first time she had cheated and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. But, it would be the last time she cheated on him, with this guy.
Wind blew through the trees above him, cooling him slightly. It was summer and he felt something crawling up his neck, but he ignored it.
She cheated the whole time he was in Iraq. Why? He didn’t know. But, she dressed up like a whore every Friday and Saturday night. She went to the bars with her slutty friends, and came home with any guy who bought her a drink, or she blew them in the parking lot.
The whole town knew. Hell, the whole town probably fucked her. He was the only one who didn’t know. He walked around town. The proud soldier. The good guy. While everyone laughed at him behind his back. Then, he found out, and all the pieces fell into place.
The pics he got from her. All the times she didn’t answer the phone. The times his friends were in places she was supposed to be, but they never saw her. Hell, he was not even sure if his daughter was really his.
He watched an ant crawling through the dirt in front of him. Then, he looked across the field to the white farm house he had bought her with his military benefits. That white picket fence. That dream home, where they would build a family and a business.
How many guys had she fucked in front of his 2 year old daughter in his bed? If she even was his daughter. He was in the desert, while she was on her knees with some guy.
A red mustang pulled up in front of his home. A guy got out and looked around. Then, he went to the front door. She opened it before he got there. His wife. The love of his life let the man in and kissed him as he entered.
He felt a buzz in his pocket. He rolled over onto his back and pulled out his cell phone. It was a text from work.
“Where are you?” They asked.
He ignored it. There was no need to answer. He put the phone back in his pocket and rolled back onto his belly watching the house again.
Why would she do this to him? Why not just divorce him, and get child support? He never beat her or cheated on her.
He pulled out what looked like a baby monitor and set it beside him in the dirt. He turned it on and was immediately greeted with the sounds of grunting, and groaning. There was a constant hard pounding that he could only assume was his headboard on the wall of his house. Bang! Bang! Bang!
Turn it off
He was sick to his stomach. She deserved to die. She was his wife. He did not care what anyone said, she was his, and no one else’s.
Forgive her
“I did forgive her for all the years I was in the war. But, it doesn’t stop.”
You can have a life without her.
“That’s not the point. It’s about justice. She has cheated and needs to pay.” He whispered.
What about God?
“God knows I love her and that she is mine. I have forgiven her and won’t hurt her but I cannot do this anymore. She and everyone need to learn, and know that I’m not a joke.” He said.
He cried and puffs of dirt lifted as he spoke. He wiped the tears with his dirty hand and mud stained his face. He had shed so many tears for her over the years and he was done. He could not do it anymore.
He heard them talking on the monitor and he shut it off. He could care less what they said.
This doesn’t have to happen
‘Why don’t you talk to her? Tell her to say no! Tell her to quit! Tell her to feel bad about what she does! Why do I always have to be the one to do what’s right?” He said.
He watched the house and the front door opened.
The fancy man bounded out the door like a stallion who had just won a prize. She yelled something at him, and he said something back, and then continued to his car, while she watched.
He clicked the safety off.
Breathe in and out, and then pause. It was that natural pause in breathing where snipers did their deadly work.
Squeeze the trigger, recoil…red mist…and a loud crack..
It was all over but the screaming…
Bio: Dick Johnson is a writer from St. Louis, Mo.. He likes to tell stories on the grittier side of life. He has several on The Yard: Crime Blog. “A Bottle of Vodka” “Drunk Tank” “Sad Day” “Bag of Soap” “Do You Like Masks?” and “The Crawl Space“
Read more Flash Fiction on The Yard: Crime Blog