The Breakdown…

She slammed the cutlery drawer, causing the silverware to clamber a riotous racket from the force. “Where is it?” Her voice was shrill as she opened a cabinet door and sent the dishes rattling as she closed it again.

“Honey, I have no idea what you are looking for.” Her husband, Bill, tried his best to calm her without getting too close. Years ago, he learned to never get between a neurotic woman and her mental breakdown.

“I know it’s here somewhere.” She flung open the cutlery utility drawer and started to scour through the pens and thing-a-ma-bobs that they stored in there. She stopped, holding six pens in her clutches, and slowly turned toward him. “I know you hid it.”

Bill put both his hands up, partly to show he wasn’t a threat, and partly to parry away any object that might come in his direction. “Honey,” he pleaded, “I don’t know what you’re looking for.” He repeated slowly.

“You’re hiding it from me, aren’t you.” Her tone got sinister as she took a tentative step toward him. He backed up two full steps out of the kitchen, his foot hitting the couch and causing it to move.

“Honey. Now, you just need to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me what to do. Just give it too me.”

“Give what? What are you looking for?”

“GIVE IT TOO ME!” Her voice almost a growl.

“Tell me what it is you want, and I’ll help you find it.” He edged around the side of the couch, making sure that he had an escape route if she decided to come at him.

“It. I need IT! How many times do I have to tell you. It’s like you don’t even listen to me.” She mumbled as she slammed the pens down, turned back to the cabinets and started rummaging through them again. He wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn her eyes started turning red as she turned away from him.

“I want to help. I just…” He quietly took a step back toward the table, “I just don’t know how too.” Another two steps and he would be at his Go-Bag. She slammed another cabinet shut and reached for the knife drawer, pulling it out with a bang. As her hands rummaged through the serrated and straight-edged blades, he reached behind him and grabbed his bag.

She let out a howl as one of the blades nicked her palm. She grabbed the offending knife and held it up, spinning on her heels toward him and holding it out toward him. “You’re hiding it. I know you are.” She started toward him as he fumbled to open the bag and reached inside.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” He started to cry. Grabbing ahold of what he was looking for, he pulled it out of his bag. She stopped in her tracks, the knife less than a foot away from him. Her demeanor changed, where there was rage and anger, now there was a submissiveness that he was unused to seeing. She lowered the knife and let it fall to the floor, the point imbedding into the dark wooden floor.

“I’m so sorry…” he repeated. “I didn’t want it to be like this.” His hand still outstretched toward her holding a chocolate bar. “You can have it. I was.. I was trying to save it as a surprise for later.”

As she reached out for the bar, she looked at him, love filling her eyes and passion covering her face. “Oh, honey, that is just the sweetest thing ever!”

Filed under: Flash Fiction Tagged: Grammar Ghoul