Dying Love

[Sliced 819]

Throughout his lifetime, a man will encounter many things. Love. Joy. Friendship. Heartbreak. Things like these that can either make or break a man. A man will experience happiness and pain, but never, will a man feel as much pain as putting a bullet in his own wife. To watch her cry because there was nothing to fix her - to heal her, but to end her before it took over. That beautiful face you've loved for so many years, told her you'd always be there for her - to love her. You'd do anything for her. Even...even if it meant ending her life was the only way to save her.

 

---

 

 

The morning air was cool, the sun warm on my back. The leaves of the fall trees rustled in the wind. My wife slowly dying.

 

The Beretta M9 rattled as it lay in my shaking hand, my forefinger wearily resting on the trigger, pointed at my wife's bloodied face. I swallowed deeply, knowing this is the last time I’ll see her eyes. A pair of emerald orbs I’ve loved for many years.

 

With a few choppy breaths, she spoke.

 

"I-it's okay...Nate...it's okay..." she told me as she sat on the tree stump out back I chop logs on for firewood. Her blonde hair was messy, her dress white along with splatters of another human's dead and browned blood. Her hands gripped the rim of the stump. She couldn't look up at me. I don't blame her. "It's okay..."

 

She tried to say she loves me, but her sickness ended up with her coughing up her own blood, black like tar. Only god knows what’s in that stuff. She pulled herself together after a short time.

 

"I love you," she said weakly, her voice raspy.

 

"I love you, too, Elena," I began to squeeze the trigger.

 

She cleared her throat and she sat up straight, looking up to me. Her eyes shone in the suns light, green like emeralds. I stared deeply into them. Bloodshot but still beautiful.

 

"I'm ready. Take care of our baby for me," she choked.

 

"I will," I nodded, a tear slipping from my cheek, shutting my eyes tight as I pulled the trigger.

 

BANG!

 

The shot echoed out over the distance, the sound of my wife's dead body thumping on the ground sent me to my hands and knees. I do not dare look up to see something so precious yet killed by my hand. It had to be done, but that only makes it all the worse.

 

"NO!" I roared out, slamming the pistol down into the dirt. "NO!"

 

I tossed the gun away from me, sending it flying a good ten yards before coming back down to earth.

 

"Stupid infected! Made me kill my own wife!”

 

I pounded my fist into the dead soil over and over until my hand was raw and bleeding. About half way through I could no longer feel it, but I needed to vent and a lot of it.

 

"WHY!?"

 

During my morning mourning, Charlie, my son, began to whine from upstairs. He cried for his Mamma to come and hold him like she always did.

 

I finally built up the guts to lift my head. Ten feet from me, my wife lay dead in the tall grass, a bullet hole near the center of her forehead.

 

"I'm sorry Charlie...Mamma won't be holding you for a long, long time..."

 

I was bored .-.

No real plot but you get the conflict...or whatever idea there was here.

 

Edited July 1, 2017 by tweezers

[tweezers 1,034]

Approved.

 

-Minor formatting.

-Grammar corrections and rewrote a couple of sentences to make it clearer.

 

Bloody well done. 

[Kuhaku 87]

*raises hand*

 

I have a considerably different opinion then "bloody well done"

[bes146 281]

yeah this is cool story !!

[VaudeVille 1,428]

Would be nice to see someone write something from the woman's perspective

[Kian 242]

Would be nice to see someone write something from the woman's perspective

 

 

And she woke up and it was just a dream...

Edited July 3, 2017 by Kian

[Sliced 819]

And she woke up and it was just a dream...

Hi Kian. I remember you from TM...where you been?