UNHAPPILY EVER AFTER
Jamie Randall never really accepted his wife for her. He mostly accepted that she had a nice, curvaceous butt; gorgeous round boobs, and that her beauty and radiance were the only things going for her. She had sex appeal and looks, but as a person she was downright flawed. She lacked a personality, she lacked motivation, she lacked integrity and stride, she mostly cared about herself and no one else, or him, and everyday he would have to put up with the same damn heartlessness and bitchiness of her tone, her actions, her wordage, and just her in general.
It would be quite possible to categorize her, or label her as one of those types of women who always are nagging and wanting to be spoiled and pampered, always wanting attention, always wanting the luxurious house, with the white picket fence, the large bedrooms and bathrooms, and always relishing and relinquishing in the popularity, the glitziness, glamorousness, and enchantment and bewilderment of it all. This of course made Jamie hate her even more. He always disliked the goody-goody-rich- stuck-up-types ever since elementary school, and then through high school and college, which made him always wonder, "Why did I choose her? Why? Why in God's name did I choose this woman as a wife?" Maybe it was because she looked so stunning, maybe in truth rich girls weren't so bad after all, or maybe it was she knew him better than anyone else. Whatever the case she was his wife and also his distraction...
I mean whenever they were on a beach she'd be flaunting and parading around like some prize to be won. Whenever they were at a restaurant she'd always ask for the bill before ordering her meal, or even eating it, and whenever he wanted to do something romantic and fun-filled she wanted to do the exact opposite, but of course this lead to Jamie secretly finding out about her infidelity, her unlawfulness, unfaithfulness, her adulterousness, and her confidential bed hopping. Apparently, she was hustling around some young eighteen-year-old college jock with rippling pectorals, hulking muscles, slick back blonde hair, and pearly white teeth that could be in a toothpaste commercial.
One night while driving home from work he saw her car in a sleazy hotel parking lot called "The Rocking Bedpost" Hotel. It was there he caught her and this Eric guy in the "act." The affair was a devastating and heartbreaking experience, leaving them in therapy sessions and Jamie so willingly wanting to stick a knife in her, or shoot her brains out and splatter them and smear them all over a wall like a bug being splat by a flyswatter.
Just the thought of ending it all, putting the pain, the suffering, the antagonizing and intimidating thoughts of seeing the scene of the crime replaying in his head again and again and again was enough for him! He had been in a state of dementia for far too long.
Letting his inner rage, his inner psychotic/psychopathic ambitions, and vengeance speak more over his daily life. He had taken on a new life, a new identity, a personage that only he knew as "Jay", a mild-mannered man during the day, but at night a man plotting and scheming out his plan of doing away with his wife and ending her life for the pain and angst she caused him.
Down in the basement he'd sit drawing and doodling out his plan. I'll do it like "FARGO" and hire a bunch of hit men to kill her. No, no, no, that's too typical, too cowardly... He thought writing down an idea on his notepad of paper. I know...I'll wait till she's done with work then when she goes to the parking lot I'll come full blast with my car and run her over. That'll teach her! No, no, no, no, that's good, but a bit too overdramatic for my tastes. Maybe I should just do it quick and simple. Either kill her while she's sleeping, or just shoot her while she's making dinner, or doing something constructive. It's messy, but nonetheless effective.
Ah ha! The master plan had finally come interplay. Soon, his wife would be lying in a pool of blood beside his feet and he'd be there standing before her, laughing maniacally, just licking his chops in gaining his revenge and defeating the tyrant known as his...WIFE! Yes, everything was going exactly and accordingly to plan. Soon, everything he'd hope for, everything he'd dream, wish, pray, and ask God for would soon come to play and the anticipating moment, the moment where'd he cock the gun, pull the safety off, and the trigger and watch her brains blow out the back of her head and onto their living room wall in a sea of blood, in a scene of despair, and him jumping for joy in her demise. Ah, how it felt good to him, just simply satisfying and gratifying to hear, to envision and imagine, to witness.
The old ball and chain would finally be disposed of and he'd be frolicking around, giddily dancing and prancing about in all of his happiness, success, and felicity. By morning his plan would be put into effect and she'd be out of his life for good. Everything was perfectly connecting and fittingly working to plan, except for one minor detail, one thing he never knew about his wife...SHE WAS A PSYCHIC AND COULD READ MINDS AND ALREADY KNEW WHAT HE WAS PLANNING!!!
This never came up with their discussions, or during any of their heart-to- heart conversations, mostly because she thought she would embarrass or humiliate herself if she told him, or she just felt the subject wasn't something to bring up so she kept it hidden.
As a child Grace would sense things before they happened. She had a gift. A gift that was kind of like her "Spider-Sense" as she would call it, quoting from "SPIDER-MAN." Whenever danger was afoot, or someone was in trouble she'd use her handy psychic powers to save them, or forewarn them of impending doom. This sense was also however what paved the way into her deserting into a shy, quiet, emotionless, lifeless state, mostly because she was afraid of what her husband, her friends, colleagues, or others might say.
This sense WAS what was the main source of her marriage problems. If she had just told her husband than this whole going to therapy sessions, constant arguing and fighting would be lifted from them, and they'd live happily and ordinarily ever after, but this abnormality, this supernatural handicapping, and this cursed placed upon her head controlled her and consumed her for years and she had told a soul than who knows what the consequences, or the opposite of that would be. Even when she was having the affair she felt uncomfortable and unsettled that if she broke it to Eric she'd face his wrath, or his insults, but maybe it would've been ok. Maybe if she had stopped overreacting she wouldn't have placed herself in this situation. She had to tell Jamie and fast! She had to save him!
The next morning Jamie awoke from sleeping down in the basement and saw that his plans of conquest were gone. COMPLETELY GONE! He looked everywhere, under the desk, chair, in the garbage can, just basically anywhere he could think of, but then the gears in his head started turning...SHE DID IT!
"Blast! She must've came downstairs, saw me sleeping there, and grabbed the plans and went to the cops for help. I bet in 30 minutes there'll be a swarm of squad cars in our driveway. Damn her, damn her to hell!"
But unfortunately he was wrong. She didn't grab them. In fact she was still sleeping upstairs in their master bedroom, pleasantly dreaming away. After 30 minutes he realized he made a mistake and went upstairs to the kitchen, but forgot his gun downstairs. Damn it! He thought smacking and slapping his forehead disgusted that he had forgotten the most important thing in this little charade of his, but who needed a gun when there was a bunch of butcher knives just lying around the house for the plucking. He waited for 10 minutes and then heard her from upstairs getting up, yawning, stretching, and clothing and dressing herself in her finest satin pink robe and bunny slippers. This was his chance! As soon as she came down the steps he'd drive the knife right through her heart! Pierce through the flesh and skin, sink it through the bone and muscle, and stick it right through that lying, backstabbing, betraying, cheating heart of hers!
He readied himself waiting in the kitchen and heard the pitter patter of her feet coming down the stairs, than without warning he came out running, screaming and wailing like a maniac, but did not notice that she had the gun in her hands. CLICK, CLICK! It went. Shoot! She thought recognizing the safety was still on. Jamie smiled and gritted his teeth and threw the gun out of her hands and pushed her into the wall, waving and dangling the knife from his fingertips, growing even more bloodthirsty and hungry than before.
Jamie saw her getting up, but kicked her straight in the gut causing her to limp and slump back down to the ground, while he began stepping on her neck. First, ease up on her, letting her endure a series of pain, before going to the real hard knocks of things. Grace's frantic, panicky yells and hollers couldn't save her now. She was done for, but if she could reconcile with him and tell him that she was sorry and her secret maybe it would be ok. "You were supposed to love me and only me till death do you part. You were supposed to be with me! Not some young pretty boy who drives a motorcycle and thinks he's some hot shot athlete. I mean I gave you years of passion, love, eroticism, romance, joy, and serenity. I gave you this house, that bathrobe you're wearing; I gave you and showed you the world! I let you be a queen here! I worshipped you and respected you like a queen! And you denied it and spat in my face like some street whore! 'Thank you sir may I have another.' You make me sick! You make me want to hurl! Look at you. You're like an apple, sweet on the outside, but sour on the inside. I hate you! You're nothing but scum. Scum that should be wiped away clean and never be returned to this Earth again." WHAM! He booted her in the face, causing her nostrils to bleed, and her lip to start bleeding as well; droplets and trickles streaming down onto the floor.
"Honey, I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I was afraid to tell you...Afraid you'd might be shocked. I was afraid of what you'd say when I told you I was a..."
"A filthy rotten little skank! You didn't need to tell me. It was more fun catching you in the act and spending two years in the darkness of the basement, dwindling on how to do you in, how to make my life so perfect after you were gone. Now, I get the chance."
"No, honey I am a psychic. I already knew what you were going to do to me that's why I got your gun and papers. I knew you were going to find some way to do me in, I've known for two years. I knew about your parents dying in that plane crash before I even met you in high school. I knew that you had a cat named Checkers before you even told me and that he was run over by a semi-truck while you and your parents were visiting Las Vegas, Nevada. Jamie I've had this gift for years where I can read a person's mind before they commit an act, or crime, or even know when something terrible is going to happen. I'm sorry I didn't tell you and I'm sorry I brought you into all of this. I know the affair was my fault and for you to go mentally insane, but I want to make amends, make a truce, make you see I have the power."
"You have no power! You're just buying time for yourself, so once when my back is turn you'll go and grab that fallen handgun on the floor, and blast me away. You're doing like you always do playing your girlish innocence and your flirtatious side as your advantage to make me slip up. Well, sorry sister, but this man has gone through far enough and now it's time I rip your heart into like you did to mine!"
Grace rolls out of the way just before he can stick the knife into her and grabs the gun. "Listen to me Jamie! I don't want to pull the trigger, but if you come one step closer to me I will fire! Just please let's stop this nonsense and settle down. Besides, we're expecting a visitor soon anyways..." DING DONG! The doorbell rings and outside is their next-door neighbor Virginia Crabtree and a basket of homemade cookies. Jamie quickly flings the knife into his wife's chest, impaling her and spearing her to the wall.
He goes and grabs the fallen gun from her hand and goes to the door and opens it and without hesitation, or thinking shoots Crabtree right off the porch of their house and then closes the door and goes back to work, but he realizes she is nowhere to be found. Damn, he thinks, she got away again, but she won't be so lucky this time. There up the stairs he sees her crawling towards the bathroom. You're mine now! He thinks grinning from ear to ear. He stomps up the stairs with the bloody knife in hand and yanks her by the hair and drags her towards the toilet and the bathtub. He puts the water on and whispers in her ear that he's going to let the water reach to the top and then slash her throat and leave her in there floating around in her own blood, but before the water can make it she head-butts him in the head and heaves him into the bathroom sink's mirror. Shattered glass fills the room and Jamie begins rubbing and caressing his bleeding head, carefully taking out small pieces of glass out of his forehead. "Bah!" He yells in rage wrestling her and tackling her to the ground. "I don't care if you are a psychic or not, I don't even know if that was coincidence or not with Mrs. Crabtree, but you know what? Who cares! I'm fed up with being your husband. Being married to a degenerate, bottom-feeding no life like you!"
Suddenly...however Grace gets the last straw and with two pieces of glass and the knife in both of her hands she stabs Jamie right through his chest and out and kicks him off her body sending him to fly over their staircase railing and down to the ground. He looks up at her and somewhat smiles a bit, suddenly regaining the sight of the woman he married in the beginning and not the woman she became, and a tear drips down his cheek, and slowly his eyes begin shutting and closing, his body begins feeling the coldness and iciness of Death's hands, and all he can see is darkness and blackness. Grace quenching her side crawls downstairs and sees her husband dead upon the floor and begins crying, taking it all back, wishing she would've said something sooner, wishing it wouldn't have been this way, but unfortunately for her she does not see the Jamie's hand moving and before she can go back and grab the gun...
THE END.
Jamie Randall never really accepted his wife for her. He mostly accepted that she had a nice, curvaceous butt; gorgeous round boobs, and that her beauty and radiance were the only things going for her. She had sex appeal and looks, but as a person she was downright flawed. She lacked a personality, she lacked motivation, she lacked integrity and stride, she mostly cared about herself and no one else, or him, and everyday he would have to put up with the same damn heartlessness and bitchiness of her tone, her actions, her wordage, and just her in general.
It would be quite possible to categorize her, or label her as one of those types of women who always are nagging and wanting to be spoiled and pampered, always wanting attention, always wanting the luxurious house, with the white picket fence, the large bedrooms and bathrooms, and always relishing and relinquishing in the popularity, the glitziness, glamorousness, and enchantment and bewilderment of it all. This of course made Jamie hate her even more. He always disliked the goody-goody-rich- stuck-up-types ever since elementary school, and then through high school and college, which made him always wonder, "Why did I choose her? Why? Why in God's name did I choose this woman as a wife?" Maybe it was because she looked so stunning, maybe in truth rich girls weren't so bad after all, or maybe it was she knew him better than anyone else. Whatever the case she was his wife and also his distraction...
I mean whenever they were on a beach she'd be flaunting and parading around like some prize to be won. Whenever they were at a restaurant she'd always ask for the bill before ordering her meal, or even eating it, and whenever he wanted to do something romantic and fun-filled she wanted to do the exact opposite, but of course this lead to Jamie secretly finding out about her infidelity, her unlawfulness, unfaithfulness, her adulterousness, and her confidential bed hopping. Apparently, she was hustling around some young eighteen-year-old college jock with rippling pectorals, hulking muscles, slick back blonde hair, and pearly white teeth that could be in a toothpaste commercial.
One night while driving home from work he saw her car in a sleazy hotel parking lot called "The Rocking Bedpost" Hotel. It was there he caught her and this Eric guy in the "act." The affair was a devastating and heartbreaking experience, leaving them in therapy sessions and Jamie so willingly wanting to stick a knife in her, or shoot her brains out and splatter them and smear them all over a wall like a bug being splat by a flyswatter.
Just the thought of ending it all, putting the pain, the suffering, the antagonizing and intimidating thoughts of seeing the scene of the crime replaying in his head again and again and again was enough for him! He had been in a state of dementia for far too long.
Letting his inner rage, his inner psychotic/psychopathic ambitions, and vengeance speak more over his daily life. He had taken on a new life, a new identity, a personage that only he knew as "Jay", a mild-mannered man during the day, but at night a man plotting and scheming out his plan of doing away with his wife and ending her life for the pain and angst she caused him.
Down in the basement he'd sit drawing and doodling out his plan. I'll do it like "FARGO" and hire a bunch of hit men to kill her. No, no, no, that's too typical, too cowardly... He thought writing down an idea on his notepad of paper. I know...I'll wait till she's done with work then when she goes to the parking lot I'll come full blast with my car and run her over. That'll teach her! No, no, no, no, that's good, but a bit too overdramatic for my tastes. Maybe I should just do it quick and simple. Either kill her while she's sleeping, or just shoot her while she's making dinner, or doing something constructive. It's messy, but nonetheless effective.
Ah ha! The master plan had finally come interplay. Soon, his wife would be lying in a pool of blood beside his feet and he'd be there standing before her, laughing maniacally, just licking his chops in gaining his revenge and defeating the tyrant known as his...WIFE! Yes, everything was going exactly and accordingly to plan. Soon, everything he'd hope for, everything he'd dream, wish, pray, and ask God for would soon come to play and the anticipating moment, the moment where'd he cock the gun, pull the safety off, and the trigger and watch her brains blow out the back of her head and onto their living room wall in a sea of blood, in a scene of despair, and him jumping for joy in her demise. Ah, how it felt good to him, just simply satisfying and gratifying to hear, to envision and imagine, to witness.
The old ball and chain would finally be disposed of and he'd be frolicking around, giddily dancing and prancing about in all of his happiness, success, and felicity. By morning his plan would be put into effect and she'd be out of his life for good. Everything was perfectly connecting and fittingly working to plan, except for one minor detail, one thing he never knew about his wife...SHE WAS A PSYCHIC AND COULD READ MINDS AND ALREADY KNEW WHAT HE WAS PLANNING!!!
This never came up with their discussions, or during any of their heart-to- heart conversations, mostly because she thought she would embarrass or humiliate herself if she told him, or she just felt the subject wasn't something to bring up so she kept it hidden.
As a child Grace would sense things before they happened. She had a gift. A gift that was kind of like her "Spider-Sense" as she would call it, quoting from "SPIDER-MAN." Whenever danger was afoot, or someone was in trouble she'd use her handy psychic powers to save them, or forewarn them of impending doom. This sense was also however what paved the way into her deserting into a shy, quiet, emotionless, lifeless state, mostly because she was afraid of what her husband, her friends, colleagues, or others might say.
This sense WAS what was the main source of her marriage problems. If she had just told her husband than this whole going to therapy sessions, constant arguing and fighting would be lifted from them, and they'd live happily and ordinarily ever after, but this abnormality, this supernatural handicapping, and this cursed placed upon her head controlled her and consumed her for years and she had told a soul than who knows what the consequences, or the opposite of that would be. Even when she was having the affair she felt uncomfortable and unsettled that if she broke it to Eric she'd face his wrath, or his insults, but maybe it would've been ok. Maybe if she had stopped overreacting she wouldn't have placed herself in this situation. She had to tell Jamie and fast! She had to save him!
The next morning Jamie awoke from sleeping down in the basement and saw that his plans of conquest were gone. COMPLETELY GONE! He looked everywhere, under the desk, chair, in the garbage can, just basically anywhere he could think of, but then the gears in his head started turning...SHE DID IT!
"Blast! She must've came downstairs, saw me sleeping there, and grabbed the plans and went to the cops for help. I bet in 30 minutes there'll be a swarm of squad cars in our driveway. Damn her, damn her to hell!"
But unfortunately he was wrong. She didn't grab them. In fact she was still sleeping upstairs in their master bedroom, pleasantly dreaming away. After 30 minutes he realized he made a mistake and went upstairs to the kitchen, but forgot his gun downstairs. Damn it! He thought smacking and slapping his forehead disgusted that he had forgotten the most important thing in this little charade of his, but who needed a gun when there was a bunch of butcher knives just lying around the house for the plucking. He waited for 10 minutes and then heard her from upstairs getting up, yawning, stretching, and clothing and dressing herself in her finest satin pink robe and bunny slippers. This was his chance! As soon as she came down the steps he'd drive the knife right through her heart! Pierce through the flesh and skin, sink it through the bone and muscle, and stick it right through that lying, backstabbing, betraying, cheating heart of hers!
He readied himself waiting in the kitchen and heard the pitter patter of her feet coming down the stairs, than without warning he came out running, screaming and wailing like a maniac, but did not notice that she had the gun in her hands. CLICK, CLICK! It went. Shoot! She thought recognizing the safety was still on. Jamie smiled and gritted his teeth and threw the gun out of her hands and pushed her into the wall, waving and dangling the knife from his fingertips, growing even more bloodthirsty and hungry than before.
Jamie saw her getting up, but kicked her straight in the gut causing her to limp and slump back down to the ground, while he began stepping on her neck. First, ease up on her, letting her endure a series of pain, before going to the real hard knocks of things. Grace's frantic, panicky yells and hollers couldn't save her now. She was done for, but if she could reconcile with him and tell him that she was sorry and her secret maybe it would be ok. "You were supposed to love me and only me till death do you part. You were supposed to be with me! Not some young pretty boy who drives a motorcycle and thinks he's some hot shot athlete. I mean I gave you years of passion, love, eroticism, romance, joy, and serenity. I gave you this house, that bathrobe you're wearing; I gave you and showed you the world! I let you be a queen here! I worshipped you and respected you like a queen! And you denied it and spat in my face like some street whore! 'Thank you sir may I have another.' You make me sick! You make me want to hurl! Look at you. You're like an apple, sweet on the outside, but sour on the inside. I hate you! You're nothing but scum. Scum that should be wiped away clean and never be returned to this Earth again." WHAM! He booted her in the face, causing her nostrils to bleed, and her lip to start bleeding as well; droplets and trickles streaming down onto the floor.
"Honey, I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I was afraid to tell you...Afraid you'd might be shocked. I was afraid of what you'd say when I told you I was a..."
"A filthy rotten little skank! You didn't need to tell me. It was more fun catching you in the act and spending two years in the darkness of the basement, dwindling on how to do you in, how to make my life so perfect after you were gone. Now, I get the chance."
"No, honey I am a psychic. I already knew what you were going to do to me that's why I got your gun and papers. I knew you were going to find some way to do me in, I've known for two years. I knew about your parents dying in that plane crash before I even met you in high school. I knew that you had a cat named Checkers before you even told me and that he was run over by a semi-truck while you and your parents were visiting Las Vegas, Nevada. Jamie I've had this gift for years where I can read a person's mind before they commit an act, or crime, or even know when something terrible is going to happen. I'm sorry I didn't tell you and I'm sorry I brought you into all of this. I know the affair was my fault and for you to go mentally insane, but I want to make amends, make a truce, make you see I have the power."
"You have no power! You're just buying time for yourself, so once when my back is turn you'll go and grab that fallen handgun on the floor, and blast me away. You're doing like you always do playing your girlish innocence and your flirtatious side as your advantage to make me slip up. Well, sorry sister, but this man has gone through far enough and now it's time I rip your heart into like you did to mine!"
Grace rolls out of the way just before he can stick the knife into her and grabs the gun. "Listen to me Jamie! I don't want to pull the trigger, but if you come one step closer to me I will fire! Just please let's stop this nonsense and settle down. Besides, we're expecting a visitor soon anyways..." DING DONG! The doorbell rings and outside is their next-door neighbor Virginia Crabtree and a basket of homemade cookies. Jamie quickly flings the knife into his wife's chest, impaling her and spearing her to the wall.
He goes and grabs the fallen gun from her hand and goes to the door and opens it and without hesitation, or thinking shoots Crabtree right off the porch of their house and then closes the door and goes back to work, but he realizes she is nowhere to be found. Damn, he thinks, she got away again, but she won't be so lucky this time. There up the stairs he sees her crawling towards the bathroom. You're mine now! He thinks grinning from ear to ear. He stomps up the stairs with the bloody knife in hand and yanks her by the hair and drags her towards the toilet and the bathtub. He puts the water on and whispers in her ear that he's going to let the water reach to the top and then slash her throat and leave her in there floating around in her own blood, but before the water can make it she head-butts him in the head and heaves him into the bathroom sink's mirror. Shattered glass fills the room and Jamie begins rubbing and caressing his bleeding head, carefully taking out small pieces of glass out of his forehead. "Bah!" He yells in rage wrestling her and tackling her to the ground. "I don't care if you are a psychic or not, I don't even know if that was coincidence or not with Mrs. Crabtree, but you know what? Who cares! I'm fed up with being your husband. Being married to a degenerate, bottom-feeding no life like you!"
Suddenly...however Grace gets the last straw and with two pieces of glass and the knife in both of her hands she stabs Jamie right through his chest and out and kicks him off her body sending him to fly over their staircase railing and down to the ground. He looks up at her and somewhat smiles a bit, suddenly regaining the sight of the woman he married in the beginning and not the woman she became, and a tear drips down his cheek, and slowly his eyes begin shutting and closing, his body begins feeling the coldness and iciness of Death's hands, and all he can see is darkness and blackness. Grace quenching her side crawls downstairs and sees her husband dead upon the floor and begins crying, taking it all back, wishing she would've said something sooner, wishing it wouldn't have been this way, but unfortunately for her she does not see the Jamie's hand moving and before she can go back and grab the gun...
THE END.