The Sound of Silence

I sat in my office soaking up the silence. She was at work and wouldn’t be home for another hour. An hour that I could enjoy. It’s like being in prison when they let you outside. You get a taste of the fresh air and then it’s back to your tiny cell. That bitch was a tease.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the ceiling. I had just put the kids down for a nap, so I had a moment to myself. The only reason I married The Bitch was because we had Zoey. It was hard to believe that was four years ago. She was getting so big.

I heard a small cry from the other room and peeked in to see Connor already awake. He was born two years after Zoey. Everything went to shit after that. My wife never wanted to have anything to do with the family we had made, always taking extra shifts and constantly fighting with me when she was home. She had become the bane of my existence.

I walked over to Connor’s crib and picked him up. He was quiet. Always quiet. I’m not complaining, but it was unsettling in a way. It was like he knew things weren’t okay. I held him close to my chest and rocked him back to sleep.

“Get some sleep buddy,” I said and left the room.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs I heard the familiar crackling of gravel under the tires of her car. Why the fuck was she home so early? I turned into the kitchen, avoiding the front of the house. Zoey was standing by the counter, looking like a ballerina on her tip toes, trying to reach the knives.

“Don’t play with those, sweetie, those are adult toys.” I picked her up and brought her into the playroom as the front door opened. Great. Another afternoon spoiled. She threw her keys and bag onto the table by the door and walked into the kitchen.

“You’re home early,” I muttered.

“Don’t sound too excited, you might hurt yourself.” She was looking through cabinets and eventually made her way to the fridge, peering inside. “They decided since I had been working so many extra shifts I better take a day off before I become exhausted, or some load of shit. Other employees were probably complaining I had all the overtime. Assholes.”

“Well you have been gone a lot. I barely see you.”Her eyes snapped to me so fast you could hear it.

“You know I work my ass off to provide for us while you sit at home and work in your cushy chair taking care of the kids! Do you think I like being away from my family this much?” I wasn’t sure how to answer this without pissing her off even more so I just said it.

“Actually, yeah I do. Do you even know how old your kids are?”

She slapped me and I exploded. I grabbed her by the throat and slammed her into the counter behind her. “I’m sick of all your bullshit,” I said. “You don’t do anything useful! You’re gone all day and you come home and drink your fat ass to sleep on the couch!”

“I can’t breathe. You’re going to kill me,” she managed to choke out. Zoey screamed and as I told her to go to her room, The Bitch kneed me in the groin. I let one hand free and delivered it to the side of her face, feeling her jaw give way from the force of my fist. She fell and hit her head on the corner of the counter. I heard her neck snap. Horrifying gratification.

I stopped for a second admiring my work. The reason I dread waking up each morning, lying completely still. At first it felt amazing. I thought of everything that I had just ended with that one punch; but as the adrenaline wore off I started to panic. What would I do with the body? I was fucked. What would the kids do without me? The kids. They were quiet.

When she fell her elbow must have hit the knives and knocked them off the counter. How could this happen? Zoey was lying near the counter with a knife jutting from her skull. I told her to go to her room! I screamed and a few choked sobs escaped my throat. How could I let this happen? I jumped up and ran into my room. Searching. Searching for an escape from this mess. How could I do this to myself? Why couldn’t I just suffer? Why did I have to kill The Bitch? I opened my bottom right drawer and rifled through the folders and papers. I knew it was there somewhere. I flung my “world’s best dad” plaque aside and laughed at the irony. Best dad my ass. I was a murderer. I murdered my baby girl.

I found it. Sweet salvation. 45 calibers of sweet salvation. I opened another drawer and pulled out the box of bullets. I only needed one but I loaded the gun anyway. I walked back out of my office, still in shock at the scene before me: the body of my wife and my baby girl lying limp in puddles of coagulating blood. I kneeled down by my wife’s face and stroked her hair.

“You were always making my life hell. I’ve just sent you where I’ve been for years.” I laughed and put the barrel in my mouth.

The sound of the bullet chewed through the silence and left an even greater quiet lingering in its wake. A car drove by and splashed rainwater onto a squirrel sitting on the sidewalk. Innocent passersby chatted about what they would have for dinner that night. The world outside was oblivious to the mayhem that had taken place.

The carpet inside was painted red and fury weighed down the air. Connor sat in his crib staring at his father’s body. He was quiet. Always quiet.