Tom didn't mean to kill his wife.

He was just so frustrated. Stupid Mousey, didn't know when to shut up...Top-off, Half-gone, All-gone...but then hadn't it been his fault? He had, after all, eaten the meat- all of it- that they'd been saving for winter. All gone. No, he couldn't blame his Mousey for being angry with him.

But he'd just been so hungry. The temptation to eat the meat was nearly painful; he hadn't been able to get the picture out of his head. Lovely, juicy meat dripping with fat. It had haunted his dreams and coloured his vision until he finally snapped. He'd lied to his Mousey, his naive Mousey who just smiled and asked him to bring her back a little red wine. And once he had a little, it only became worse. The obsession was worse, the dreams were worse, the lies were worse. Still Mousey suspected nothing. The third time though...the third time she had wondered. Top-off, Half-gone, All-gone...Tom still denied that anything was amiss.

Then they'd gone to the church. Mousey was so excited to finally eat some of that sweet meat, and then they'd arrived there... god, he could still see her eyes. She looked so hurt, and betrayed, and... he couldn't think of anything to say. He couldn't take it back, make the jar full again, and as the stream of accusations streamed from her lips he'd just swallowed her up. Because, as he'd heard, that was the way of the world.

But Tom didn't mean to kill his wife, and he didn't mean to lie and he didn't mean to eat their food. He didn't mean to but now the meat was all gone and his wife was all gone and he didn't know what to do anymore.