The End, Less Possibilities
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"Where do you anticipate going?" When he realizes his wife's bags are packed and at the bottom of the stairs, her husband sputters.
She says, dead-eyed and serious, "It does not matter." She puts on the black coat she saved for special occasions.
"The children—"
She turns from him to grab her belongings and remarks, "The kids are thirty." "They are living their lives. You now possess yours.
Bewildered, her spouse searches his whiskey-soaked mind for anything, anything, to put an end to this uncontrollable thing. This is just different from her; she is consistently trustworthy, consistent, and unwavering.
"So, where do you anticipate going?" Arms akimbo, he asks again.
She says, "I am going to go," and shuts the door behind her.
She has just removed her clothes. Several books. Nothing more.
She opened a bank account and did her best to embezzle money throughout the previous 12 months. She has earned extra money by tutoring pupils after school. Weekend babysitting duties. cleaned residences. Anything to secure a tiny piece of land to stake her claim. Actually, to retake her life.
Reclaim my life, she thinks to herself, grinning uncontrollably as the kilometers pass.
She has paid for her automobile. It is a late model Toyota that she will use till she can move on. It is a foreboding time to begin her new life, driving at nightfall. However, June seems appropriate. School is over. Summertime seems to offer countless opportunities. Her employment search will take months to complete before the autumn semester begins. And what school system is without a need for a competent English teacher?
She notices a variety of exit signs as she gets closer to the expressway. Once more, countless options. West, East, or South? Anything but north. She wishes to never again travel so far north.
She merely takes a left because it feels correct, without giving it much consideration. She can no longer help but smile broadly as the distance to the north increases.
She drives through the darkness until her eyes burn with grit. She has an apple for dinner and nibbles. She plays about with the radio. She selects a vintage Billy Joel tune.
The icy hands
The dejected gaze
The eerie quiet of Ireland
It is very late.
However, I will wait.
During the extended evening with you, the full story was downloaded now.
She decides she needs to relax by midmorning. After locating an inexpensive motel off the highway, she pays with cash and registers under her maiden name. She sees that they are still serving the complimentary continental breakfast.
As she walks into the little dining room, parents are sipping coffee and watching Fox News, and the kids are drenching their Fruit Loops with whole milk. She eats a couple of hard-boiled eggs and toasts two dejected-looking bagels as she waits for the bagels to brown. She piles her dish high with sliced cantaloupe and a cherry Danish. A dinner worthy of a queen!
She rides the elevator to her floor and does some quick math on her money. She believes there will be sufficient. She intends to use the hotel's computer later.
The hotel door opens and slams against the wall, waking her up. She has little time to add up all of her errors. The Toyota was parked in front of the motel by her. She paid with cash, but for the security deposit she used a credit card. When she flung her phone across the hotel room, she did not turn it off, and she used it to tell her husband where she was—for her protection.
But she is not Iago, with all of his sly schemes and devious planning; she is only an English teacher. She is also just as gullible and innocent as Desdemona, but she is equally afraid when her equally furious husband crawls into her bed. And like Desdemona, she is caustically upbraided by a husband, so out of control and blinded by an apparent jealousy, that he would not listen. She attempts to explain, but he takes his cues from a play he will never read called Othello, and so he does as Othello does and grabs a pillow off the bed to calm his wife.
He is too strong for her to resist, and she panics, her body pinning and flailing beneath his. She senses him gripping the cushion closer to her face as she hears him swearing at her.
She believes that he was always intending to kill her. This play has had more than enough foreshadowing. And on that day, her prospects did not appear limitless for the first time.
In her dying moments, she finds herself back on the highway, switches on the radio, and listens to the final verse of a Billy Joel song:
I did not initiate it. full story download now
You have a broken heart.
From a long, long time ago
How you hold me, oh
Is everything I require to understand
And it is quite late.
However, I will wait.
During the extended evening with you
But she is not Iago, with all of his sly schemes and devious planning; she is only an English teacher. She is also just as gullible and innocent as Desdemona, but she is equally afraid when her equally furious husband crawls into her bed. And like Desdemona, she is caustically upbraided by a husband, so out of control and blinded by an apparent jealousy, that he would not listen. She attempts to explain, but he takes his cues from a play he will never read called Othello, and so he does as Othello does and grabs a pillow off the bed to calm his wife.
He is too strong for her to resist, and she panics, her body pinning and flailing beneath his. She senses him gripping the cushion closer to her face as she hears him swearing at her.
She believes that he was always intending to kill her. This play has had more than enough foreshadowing. And on that day, her prospects did not appear limitless for the first time.
In her dying moments, she finds herself back on the highway, switches on the radio, and listens to the final verse of a Billy Joel song:
I did not initiate it. full story download now
You have a broken heart.
From a long, long time ago
How you hold me, oh
Is everything I require to understand
And it is quite late.
However, I will wait.
During the extended evening with you
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