{"id":120,"date":"2024-06-27T16:39:44","date_gmt":"2024-06-27T16:39:44","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/mich.ahvmeene.com\/?p=120"},"modified":"2025-04-02T09:02:26","modified_gmt":"2025-04-02T09:02:26","slug":"we-act","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/2024\/06\/27\/we-act\/","title":{"rendered":"We Act"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

So, I stabbed him.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

One time, two times, three times. Four, five, six… keep counting the scale of raging, maddening numbers, until you fall asleep. And then, once you wake up, tell me all about the dream you had. Was it refreshing? Did it satisfy you? Could you see the crimson red splashes in the background? And most importantly, did you care? About the smell, the lifeless atmosphere. The body laying still, next to you?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh, but you didn\u2019t, Sophie. Did ya?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSophie.\u201d He brought me back to reality. And fuck him for it. \u201cAre you okay? Can you please just tell me what the hell happened?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I turned to him, rage melting inside my brown eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDoes it look like I\u2019m fucking okay to you, Roger?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClearly fucking not!\u201d He yelled. He was the one who looked mad now.\u00a0You\u2019re\u00a0<\/em><\/strong>the<\/em> one who\u2019s mad now, Roger?\u00a0<\/em>It didn\u2019t last though. His gaze softened and filled with worry. \u201cWhatever it is that has you acting this way, you can tell me. I am your brother goddammit. Just trust me, will ya?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I looked at my hands: soft, pale- clean. The engagement ring resting on my -once- favorite finger. My eyes filled with tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe cheated, Roger. He-.\u201d I choked on the words and looked at my brother. His look shifted from empathy and softness to pure rage.\u00a0Pure\u00a0<\/em>rage.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe what?\u201d Asked Roger in an almost inaudible whisper. And I inevitably cried louder. \u201cAnd what the fuck are\u00a0you\u00a0<\/strong>crying about?\u201d He came closer to me. \u201cYou are shedding tears of sadness for\u00a0him?\u201d\u00a0<\/em>Roger took my face with both of his hands. \u201cWe don\u2019t cry for no one. Remember?\u201d He cleaned my falling tears. \u201cWe act.\u201d I started feeling that rage building up inside of me again. \u201cAnd we do so tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

As planned, that night, my loving husband entered the house with a smile on his face. He had spent most of the day working on the hospital, and I, yearningly made us a very special dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

After we said our hello\u2019s, we sat down at the dining table. He thanked me- said it smelled delicious. I just sat there, looking at him triumphantly. I couldn\u2019t stand the smell of his lotion, but the stupid smile on his face, that one made me so happy. Because I knew it would be the last time he would be able to make it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Poor, poor soul. Look what you are about to do to yourself.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

When his spoon took the first sip of soup, he approached it to his mouth. Smelled it, closed his eyes. Smiled. There there. Eat your fucking soup, love. <\/em>But he opened his eyes, looked at me and stopped. He gently placed the spoon down and approached me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve got something on your lips, baby.\u201d He lifted his hand and approached, approached, approached my face. But before it could touch my mouth, it shifted its course towards my throat. His hand closed tightly around my skinny, fragile throat, and I started gasping for air. I could- could not- couldn\u2019t breathe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cStupid, stupid bitch.\u201d He smiled, his hand getting tighter around my neck. \u201cYou really thought you could fool me, didn\u2019t ya?\u201d His smile grew bigger and bigger until it stopped, and dropped back to a straight, apathic expression.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Slowly, I moved my hand towards the table and the resting knife on top of it. When I reached it, I took it and stabbed him on the ribs. He cried in pain and his hand stiffed against my throat, no longer able to continue pressing it. Shocked and scared, I slipped out of his strong hand while coughing and gasping. Knife in hand, I began running towards the guest room. I could hear my husband\u2019s steps behind me: heavy, fast- angry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I reached the guest room, I went inside and locked the door. I took out my phone and started texting Roger. He said he would be around; in case I needed his help.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It went wrong. Please help.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The moment I hit send, the door opened in a crash. My heart skipped a beat, and I grabbed the knife harder.\u00a0Roger will be here any minute, Roger will be here any minute.\u00a0<\/em>I kept repeating in my head. My husband\u2019s eyes reduced to\u00a0pure\u00a0<\/em>madness. A raging fire kept growing bigger inside of them, making them look like two big bonfires.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease.\u201d I said, knowing I had nowhere else to run. I had to make time, had to wait for Roger. He would be there soon. \u201cPlease.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPlease?\u201d Asked my husband. \u201cPlease?\u201d He mocked. \u201cOh honey. Please won\u2019t cut it this time.\u201d He smiled with pity, still approaching me. I grabbed the knife with my life and backed up towards the window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly, I heard the house door close. Roger.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cListen, please. I will do anything.\u201d I could hear the approaching steps now. Your brother is here, Sophie. He\u2019s here.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cShut the fuck up!\u201d He was bleeding, and bleeding and bleeding. Then, Roger appeared on the door with a gun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou stay the fuck away from my sister, or I will shoot your brain out, you fuck. Do you understand me?!\u201d Roger hit him with the gun on the head, making him fall. When he made sure he wasn\u2019t moving, he approached me and gave me a hug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you okay?\u201d He asked concerned, but I couldn\u2019t answer. Seconds passed and we stopped hugging. My brother looked at me; something in his eyes was off. Before I could understand what it was, I heard the loud noise and felt the pain in my chest. \u201cSorry Sophie. We don\u2019t like you too much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He kissed me gently on the forehead and approached my husband. Roger knelt and, taking his face with both hands, kissed him on the lips.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAre you okay, honey?”<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I staggered back and tripped; falling out the window.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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So, I stabbed him. One time, two times, three times. Four, five, six… keep counting the scale of raging, maddening numbers, until you fall asleep. And then, once you wake up, tell me all about the dream you had. Was it refreshing? Did it satisfy you? Could you see the crimson red splashes in the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":197,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[17,12,15,16],"class_list":["post-120","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-suspense","tag-drama","tag-mistery","tag-suspense","tag-terror"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/120","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=120"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/120\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":187,"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/120\/revisions\/187"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/197"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=120"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=120"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.writerspeak.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=120"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}