Ljaureta Krasniqi

The Fury

The dark cloud of rage arose in Mrs Fletcher’s body; she began to tremble with hatred, she was like a bomb about to explode if the right wire wasn’t cut. For what had seemed like happiness was suddenly washed down the drain. Her one and only had unexpectedly deserted in her in the now abandoned house the banging of the door when Fletcher left gave gunshots to Mrs Fletcher’s ears. She brutally staggered her way to the kitchen rummaging for a little bottle which she had been saving, tackling the cupboard she finally found the tiny vodka bottle and devoured it with one gulp, whilst wiping the residue of her mouth with her ragged torn bright top. The cold night’s breeze brought chills down Mrs Fletcher’s back, she slowly lifted herself up and made her way to the bathroom crawling into the bathtub she curved her weary body into a foetus shape, weeping her sorrows and remembering Mrs Skyes words over and over again. “He’s probably cheating on you.” Mrs Fletcher began to shake in the bathtub as if having a seizure.

After a couple of minutes Mrs Fletcher began to wince with pain; her left foot had a cramp which forced her to leave the bath tub and walk around in circles, which drew her attention to the mirror. She gradually lifted her head up and brushed her hair behind her ears. She opened the cabinet mirror and searched for her make up bag which she failed to find instead she picked up the comb and closed it firmly. Taking a deep breath she started combing her hair reciting to herself, “I am beautiful, I am beautiful” her voice growing more and more confident after every brush she sniggered to herself  as the reflection suddenly changed to Mr Fletcher and he cackled ‘‘You’re ugly.’’ Mrs Fletcher’s right eye began to twitch she let out an anguished cry and she flung the comb at the mirror shattering it to pieces. Ignoring the debris on the floor she walked over it with her bare feet, piercing her skin as warm red blood rushed out leaving foot stains covering her beautifully kept carpet.  

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The misty night flogged the helpless neighbour hood as it laid in silence only the homeless fested the streets at this time, with everyone tucked in bed only one person was alive, more alive than she had ever felt; Mrs Fletcher stumbled to her bedroom pulling out Fletcher’s clothes, glancing at his clothes she pulled out a pair of scissors and sliced them into pieces and chucking them out of the window.  Glimpsing at the night sky the big yellow moon shone down on the rabbit’s hutch catching her attention. She finally decided on how to get her revenge on ...

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