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Beyond Death by Robert A Ferguson A short piece on a love reaching through war and beyond death. [275 words]
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A Marriage Made In Heaven
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TITLE (EDIT)
A Marriage Made In Heaven
DESCRIPTION
A tale of revenge.
[936 words]
TITLE KEYWORD
Horror
AUTHOR
P J Francis
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Just an aspiring horror writer from the UK
[August 2004]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (15)
A Perfect Crime (Short Stories) One womans vengenance as a perfect crime. [1,048 words] [Horror]
Emotion (Poetry) - [39 words]
Ghostly Figures (Poetry) - [89 words] [Horror]
Gold (Short Stories) Lost hopes... [243 words] [Horror]
Hunters Moon (Short Stories) A creature is hunted. [1,768 words] [Horror]
Insignificance (Poetry) Life's meanings and hardships. [71 words]
Life's Essence (Short Stories) - [123 words]
Miranda And Her Doll (Short Stories) A sweet little girl...or is she? [1,187 words] [Horror]
Ode To A Tramp (Poetry) We forget about people that we don't see. [220 words]
The Daemonae-The First (Novels) This is a part of a dark fantasy/horror that I am writing. [4,721 words]
The Dog (Short Stories) - [258 words]
The Eye (Short Stories) - [138 words]
The Holly Tree (Short Stories) A dark fantasy tale. [1,399 words] [Horror]
The Tower (Short Stories) A man wrestles with his actions. [226 words] [Thriller]
The White Room (Short Stories) - [892 words] [Horror]
A Marriage Made In Heaven
P J Francis

She stared into the open flames, a serene smile playing about her crimson painted lips. He was finally gone. Gone for good, out of her life forever. She threw another of his love letters into the flames, watching in interest as the thin paper burst into a brief flare of flame. Ashes swirled up in to the night sky, as black and charred as the old log that she sat upon. A crackle made her glance towards the small pile of broken stick that was lying on the dusty ground near her. She scooped up a handful and tossed them onto the fire, admiring the ghostly swirls of smoke as they curled about her, reminding her of a phoenix rising from the flames. The thought seemed apt, and she threw her head back and laughed, the sound carrying into the evening air, stilling the sounds of roosting birds.

     She glanced behind her, her eyes travelling the short distance towards the house that they had shared for as long as she could remember. There were no welcoming lights shining, the windows were dark, hiding the house’s inner most thoughts in an amorphous veil of darkness. She had left it that way, she loved the dark, had always considered herself a creature of the night. In many ways she was, she prowled the night in search of forbidden love and erotic dreams, always fulfilling them with a smile on her painted lips.

    He had always named her as a whore, and had hated every conquest that she bragged about. He didn’t understand, in fact he never could, as his reasons for his actions were always far different from hers. He was a different brand of creature, and yet their fate had bound them tightly together in a bond that was unbreakable, until now, she thought with a hint of satisfaction.

     She rubbed at her bare arm, wincing as her fingers brushed against the slowly spreading bruise. He had done that, hurt her, again and again. He gained his pleasure that way, the cruelty always mental and physical. He had always claimed that he was her perfect mate, a natural foil for her corruptness. He had smiled at her when he said that, showing perfect white even teeth. More a grimace than a smile, but she bore it well, after all, it was what she deserved. They had a marriage made in heaven.

    She glanced at the slowly diminishing flames, and she bent down to pick up a rag that lay carelessly crumpled on the ground. With a relish she threw it on the flames, watching as licks of flame caressed the cheap polyester black dress. It was no good to her now, it was ripped down the bodice and was damp with half congealed blood. The dress smoldered, sending thick plumes of grey smoke into the sky, then with a sudden flare it ignited, burning, destroying the evidence of a violent night.

A chill wind gusted around her feet, spiraling the dust into intricate mindless patterns. She clutched at her body, shivering as the cool breeze touched at her nakedness. She gathered more stick and threw it onto the flames, sighing as the heat reached out tentative fingers and stroked at her bare skin.

She stood up slowly, and walked the short distance to where the black plastic refuse bag lay. She scooped it up into her arms, and returned to the warmth. Laughing, she gingerly opened the bag, smearing crimson fluid into the creases in the dark plastic. She pulled out a pair of blood stained denims, and threw them gingerly in to the flames. The fire eagerly ate at the material, lapping at it as a cat would hungrily lap at a bowl of cream. The red stained cotton work shirt followed, as well as a pair of stained athletic socks and a pair of battered running shoes. Time he should have had a new pair, she thought, then she giggled at the irony. No more coming home to find him sitting at the table, angrily demanding where his dinner was. Oh no, no more of that! She smiled. The fire crackled and flared as it burnt its fiery way through its latest meal.

She looked down at her hands, young hands that had done too much and seen too much. Life was a bitch at times, but maybe for no longer. She had broken free from his constricting demanding love. His bloodied body lying on the bed they shared was testament enough for that. But so much blood! Who would have thought that a man could have so much blood in him? she thought wonderingly. It hadn’t been easy, not at all, but she had youth and fearless courage on her side, not to mention the paraquat that had been slipped into his mug of coffee. He had gone down fighting, but the poison weaving its evil way through his veins had been enough to slow down his resistance. She had stabbed him thirty seven times, in fact his age, and the irony struck her acutely again.

When the fire had burned down to dying embers, she slowly rose, wincing as she stretched out the kinks and knots in her muscles. She slowly picked up the school satchel that had lain forgotten in the dust, and slowly she turned to face the desolate house. She had to be quick, to dispose of the body, and to clear the evidence. As she walked resolutely forwards, she fingered the gold fine link necklace that spelled out the word ‘Daughter’ around her throat and whispered “I’m coming home for you daddy.”

©PJFrancis2004

 

READER'S REVIEWS (1)
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"This was a fine piece of writing, kept my interest throughout and flowed easily moving this story forward to it's unexpected conclusion. Your gift for descriptive narrative is evident enjoyed your use of words & how you used them! Looking forward to reading more from you! Well done. " -- RAM, usa.

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COPYRIGHT NOTICE
© 2004 P J Francis
STORYMANIA PUBLICATION DATE
March 2004
NUMBER OF TIMES TITLE VIEWED
1362
 

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