Paul’s Evening Creative Writing
Paul's Evening Creative Writing
Paul sighed as he watched his wife pour herself yet another drink. Within only a few seconds of pouring it out, she lifted the glass to her lips. In one quick mouthful, the whisky disappeared. She breathed heavily, and turned to her husband.
"Get me that champagne I bought the other day. It wasn't just for any old occasion. I have some news." Sarah slurred, slumping down on the chaise longue with an unsettling, fake smile spread across her flushed cheeks. She stretched out, and looked at Paul expectantly.
"One minute." Paul muttered, and shut his newspaper. He tensely placed it on the small oak coffee table at the side of his easy chair. The soft thud of the newspaper on the table sounded like thunder to him, and he felt his heart begin to beat faster. Biting his lip, he disappeared into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator and scouted the shelves for the champagne. He lifted down the black, ice-cold bottle from the top shelf. The chill of the bottle sent an uncomfortable shiver down his spine.
"Will you hurry up!" He heard Sarah shout from the lounge.
"I...won't...be...a...minute. I told you that." He replied angrily. He quickly grabbed a couple of their best crystal wine glasses from the draining board, and hurried back into the room.
"It's about time. You're useless, do you know that?" She shouted, and burst into fits of giggles. Paul sighed. He was fed up of her, fed up of her drinking, the awful way she treated him. She'd had three affairs since they got married seven months ago. But every time he had gone back to her, thinking that she had changed. He was beginning to wish they had never met.
"I'm going to bed. I need to do some thinking." Paul mumbled, still standing well away from Sarah, still clutching the champagne and glasses. He always ...
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"It's about time. You're useless, do you know that?" She shouted, and burst into fits of giggles. Paul sighed. He was fed up of her, fed up of her drinking, the awful way she treated him. She'd had three affairs since they got married seven months ago. But every time he had gone back to her, thinking that she had changed. He was beginning to wish they had never met.
"I'm going to bed. I need to do some thinking." Paul mumbled, still standing well away from Sarah, still clutching the champagne and glasses. He always stayed away from her when she had been drinking. She could be incredibly violent sometimes. Once, she had smashed a wine bottle over his head, and put him in hospital. He clutched the champagne bottle tighter.
"No you're not. I told you I wanted to tell you something, and you're bloody well going to LISTEN TO ME!" She yelled.
"Well hurry up. I'm really tired. I need to go to bed." He lied.
"Well, sit down first, and pour us both a drink." Sarah said viciously. Paul cautiously walked over to his chair, and sat down. He placed both glasses on the small table, pulled out the champagne cork, and tossed it onto the floor behind him. He poured the transparent liquid into each glass, a horrible sick feeling in his stomach, and handed Sarah hers. He lifted his, and sipped it gingerly.
"Well...what did you want to...tell me?" Paul asked her.
"I've been..." She began, but interrupted her news by bursting into yet more fits of giggles.
"Look, will you just tell me, PLEASE?" He shouted at her.
"Well, okay, I'll start at the beginning. You know I've just got that new job, right?" She began.
"Yes, I know that."
"Well, you know that really nice man, Chris, who I brought home for lunch once...to discuss our latest task?"
"Mmm." Paul murmured. He knew what was coming next. He hoped it wouldn't be. But he knew it.
"Well we've been together now, ever since I started there. He's lovely, you really would get on like that" She smiled wickedly, crossing her fingers to demonstrate.
Paul just stared at her. She was sick. His vision blurred. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked them back. He didn't know what to say to her. His gaze suddenly rested on the champagne bottle on the table. He knew he shouldn't. He would surely get found out if he did. But he wanted to - desperately. He began to wonder if she had really treated him that badly. Maybe it was all his fault. He worked long hours, and had to travel a lot with his job, so they didn't see each other as much as he would have liked. He dismissed the thoughts from his mind, and grabbed the bottle. He lifted it slowly, a strange grin on his red face. Without another thought, he stood up and with all his strength, brought the bottle down on her head. He repeated this, again, and again. When he had no strength left, he collapsed on the thick sheepskin rug underneath him. He released his grip from the bottle, and let it roll underneath the chaise longue. He burst into tears, shaking...
* * * * * * *
Paul woke up, and rubbed his eyes. Daylight filled the room, making him squint. He looked at the rug he was lying on. Red bloodstains covered it. He glanced up at the chaise longue. Sarah lay there, pale and lifeless. He tensed slightly. What was he going to do with her? He felt more tears, but he forced them back. His worry now was to find a way of not getting found out. But how? Everyone always got found out in these situations. If he hid the body, surely it would be found. He had to think of a good idea, a way that meant he would never get found out, a way that would just let him leave here and forget about everything...
* * * * * * * *
Paul coughed. He picked up the last can of petrol, and began to pour the disgusting liquid randomly round the lounge. He stared one last time at Sarah.
"Goodbye." He whispered, and dropped the empty can on the carpet. He reached into his trouser pocket, and patted his box of matches. He smiled, relieved as he realised they were still there. He picked up the small suitcase he had packed full of his most important belongings, and walked to the front door. He opened it silently, and stepped out onto the stone step outside the house. A fresh breeze cooled his hot cheeks. Walking backwards, he took a few steps back, and took one last look at his house. He would miss it, definitely, but he couldn't stay there. Even if Sarah was still alive, he would have had to leave. It would kill him, living like that. He reached into his pocket, and carefully lit a match. He took one last step back, swung his hand back, and then flung the match into the house. Straight away, the house burst into flames. Thick black smoke filled the air, making him cough. A small bird sitting on the roof cried out, and flew away quickly. Paul began to walk away, a satisfied grin spread across his face.
