Like most (moderately normal) people I sometimes get strange urges, but this time it was to write; something I haven't done for over a year. I don't know if I'll carry it on but it amused me at the time - 04.30 this morning.
‘Did you go out last night?’
‘Do you mean last night, or last evening?’ She made to reply but her husband continued in the voice she knew very well. ‘Technically, evening ends at eight pm. Thereafter, it’s night. So if you're asking if I went out last night, then the answer is no. I went out at seven thirty. Thus, I went out last evening.’
She eyed the kitchen knife so close to hand. Every time he got into one of these moods the urge to disembowel him became so great she didn’t know how much longer she could resist the temptation. She stormed off before her hand automatically finished the job of which she had dreamed for so long.
In the kitchen April nursed a cooling cup of coffee. She really didn't want it but it gave her hands something to do which didn’t involve slaughtering her husband. How had it come to this? Their first encounter was at university. Was it really twenty years ago? April’s student days were among the best of her life. A natural at music theory, all her friends and tutors said. For their first three weeks she had assumed the man she’d met in the library to be just another faceless student who didn't really feel the need to discuss his course. It was only after realising that he was not, in fact a first year student at all but a third year, far more experienced in life, but more importantly, student life than she, had quickly warmed to him. Expecting that they would have a lot in common, indulging his amusing slurs of everything academic and acerbic but often amusing wit, had been easy at first.
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