The Wife

By Harry Godfrey

One day, years ago, a man married a woman very dear to his heart. Her name was Veronica, and she was the most beautiful and kind lady the man had ever had the pleasure to meet.
They had no children, no pets and it was very quiet around the house.
Something seemed to upset his wife, shortly after the man lost his job, but he still loved her so, but she found it difficult to carry on supporting him.
One morning, the man woke up to find his wire hanging off one of the curtain poles from one of his old work ties. When he saw her he felt like he could not breathe. He sat under the kitchen table and spoke to himself.
‘Was it me?’ he asked himself, ‘Was it me?’ He sweated. ‘Was it the fridge? Dumb fridge! Always bloody getting too hot!’ he twitched. ‘Or was it the window? The table? OR THE FLOOR?’
He never slept in their bed again, always on the kitchen floor, he never changed his clothes or washed ever again, he never watched telly, he just lay there in the front room staring at her cold, still body.
Over time he lost all interest. He never really ate, only when he had to, when he had no energy to stand up. He then decided it would be best to meet her himself. He locked himself in the bathroom and avoided all water and food. He then slowly drifted away.
Yes one day, many years ago, a man married a woman very dear to his heart. Her name was Veronica, and she was the most beautiful and kind lady the man had ever had the pleasure to meet.