Defining Disaster

The Captive Housewife (re-done)

Housewife. She hates that word. Her position wasn't that of a dramatic, self-obsessed idiot who follows her husband around aimlessly. She was strong. She was independent. And she hated when people told her she wasn't. She was the beautiful heroine of her own story, the superman to her Lois Lane. She did love him, though, oh, did she love him. Her heart swelled as she suddenly saw her husband beside her, smiling that same smile he did the day she met him. Her joy only ascended as he reached out and encircled her in his strong arms, hugging her close to his chest as it thumped and thumped in sync with her own. She buried herself in the beautiful bliss of it all, the warmth of his love, the initial safety she had felt in these arms. Distantly, she heard a beeping and an engine, the thumping continued in a beautiful drum cadence. Distantly, she heard a rustle of someone outside the door, the thumping seemed to quiet, but she pressed herself closer to his massive shoulders, holding her body to him as though he were the life raft she depended upon for her very survival. The beeping continued. His smell lessened. The beeping didn't stop. Over and over, as if on a loop. Panicked, she grabbed for her raft, reaching out for the arms she had felt, the beat she so desired to march to. Louder and louder it got, his body seemed to get smaller in her arms, the once rippling muscles now somehow small and twig-like, the image getting blurred. Suddenly the beeping burst through her ears and exploded in a thousand pieces of shrapnel in her brain. He was gone, the thumping was gone. She stood there, perplexed for a moment, absentmindedly twirling her bleach blonde hair, when she suddenly realized the source of the rustling. The mailman. She jumped up, ignoring the beeping of the stove and sprinted down the hall towards the door, hoping to catch him before he left. As she was running she felt her foot catch on the edge of the rug and was was thrown forwards, slamming her face to the hardwood floor and leaving her with an aching, persistent pain.

Theo! She screeched, but her cries were drowned out by the revving of the motor as her last chance pulled away. She pushed herself up off the ground and absentmindedly brushed herself off despite the recently cleaned floors. Her tears stained the collar of her shirt and continued dripping onto the carpet. This was the only day he was gone when the mail arrived...if only she had made it sooner. Glancing at the many locks attached the door only left her bursting into tears again. That small fantasy of a happy life truly was just that, a fantasy.

Her tears now merely a side effect, the woman started back to the kitchen, the smell of burnt cookies wafting through the house, a symbol of her own failure, when something caught her eye. A dark, ruby red letter lay on the ground, dominating a pile of magazines and bills. The white wax seal like an eye, watching her every move. She picked it up, her curiosity overpowering her instincts to prevent the possible fire, and broke the seal.