5th June 2017
Today I am going to kill my husband, he doesn’t know it but I’m sure he’s gullible enough to know he saw it coming. I am tired of hearing typical feminism speeches while feeling all helpless. Today I have come to accept that my life is in my hands and I cannot keep living like this. Death cannot come easy for him, he has to suffer like I did when he forced himself inside of me and killed our child, our sweet unborn child who I only touched in the form of dark vivid blood. I remember telling John that if we had a boy, we would name him Daniel and if a girl Danielle, or if they were twins. Wow, maybe I could have had twins. He comes home late every day since he's been going to his student’s house for dinner. Her. Danielle Jones, the 16-year old political science major my husband is pouring his sorrows and counting his blessings with. How ironic. Danielle god damn Jones. If our Danielle- my Danielle was here, I’m sure she would grow up to resent her father and build up doubts and question her audacity on being a mother, on starting a family, on sacrifice, on life, herself. Like I did. I find it god damn amusing how without us there is nothing and yet these oblivious, bossy men see us as nothing more than personal maids and pleasure machines with whom they can feel on cloud nine for 10 god damn minutes. As determined, I am now, I feel like god has other plans for me because it’s going to be dawn in no time and John still isn’t home. Well, there’s always tomorrow.
9th June 2017
Today, I saw a text between Danielle and John, he told her he’s taking her to our farmhouse, the farmhouse in Cancun that my dad gifted him, this is where John and I got married. I’m thinking he has to die before he goes, this cannot happen, why does he get to make new memories with her that were mine to enjoy...I have decided that I am going to kill him soon. But first... Danielle has to go, because he has to suffer, he has to see how it feels to have his elated state of mind replaced with tension and angst and grief.
11th June 2017
Today John came home late smelling like her again. I wonder what expensive perfumes he’s buying her from my trust fund. I cannot believe this guy. Joe Malone. Our 2-year anniversary gift. I smell it while he’s showering off her scent in the shower. The first time John hit on me, the first time I knew I had made a god damn mistake putting that ring on while he proposed to me with Beyoncé’s Single Ladies playing in the motel bar. I wasn’t terrified, I was utterly disappointed, I laughed at myself like a maniac. For someone who had a terrible childhood with a traumatizing mother and abusive father, you would assume god would be gracious enough to give me a loving husband. I am tired of crying myself to sleep at night. I have decided today is the day-
13th June 2017
Wannabe model, attractive blond Miss Danielle Rhodes, I know she likes to drink at least 8 glasses of water every day, I know exactly how she will die, I will kill the power that works the air-con in her study room, when she comes out for fresh air, I will poison her glass, she’s too busy fixing her hair and snapping every moment of her despicable life anyway, she won’t notice.
15th June 2017
I don’t know why I even had the slightest thought that maybe John could love me after Danielle’s passing, I tried to cook him dinner, but he completely detached himself from me, is this what true love is? Danielle’s passing has made him more full of rage, I worry he suspects that I killed her, sometimes I think he stares at me in rage when I’m asleep. It’s time for him to make his way through hell.
21st June 2018
It has been exactly a year since the death of my husband John Woods, it would be an understatement to even compliment the amazing memorial service we held for him. The most feminist moment I performed when I shoved his favorite axe through his skull and minced him into pieces and fed his body meat to Simba. Simba loved it. Simba misses him, at night, whenever he curls his 4-legged paws up under the quilt. He stinks but I guess it’s alright, that’s the penance of being his co-owner. Today I went on a date, finally. I think it’s time society gave me a break for being “a dead husband’s wife”. Oh, how grueling the past year has been pretending to mourn over the fact “my husband ran away with some other chick”. I think this was the most believable lie, I mean there is no body (left ?). Anyway, when Tinder Tim saw me entering the restaurant, he stared at me for a good 30 seconds and said, “There’s something deep about your eyes, what are you hiding missus?” Well, that’s a secret I’ll never tell...
Winner of the Second Prize in the Undergraduate Category of the 15th English Short Story Writing Competition