When A Woman Gets Fed Up

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Desc: : A woman that gets fed up with her husband and decides to exact some extreme revenge.

A man comes home from work early to surprise his wife with flowers and candy and finds that she's already got something planned. The computer is on and there is note written on it. He sits down in front of the computer and notices his handgun on one side of the computer and on the other side, an empty container of pain pills. He reads the message:

By the time you read this I will already be dead, so don't get too excited. Don't bother looking around the house for me either. Of course I didn't want my body where my children may see, for they have already seen enough. They have already had to endure far too many years of seeing their mother being tortured by the man they are supposed to look up to. But even though I know I am going to hurt them dearly, I cannot live like this anymore. So, I am taking these pain pills, prescribed for the kind of pain you inflict and I am going somewhere to take a nap.

Don't bother looking for me, just sit there and do something that you haven't been able to do for the last ten years. Listen to me. Now that I had to go and kill myself to get your attention, the least you can do is finish reading this letter. I have been writing it over and over in my head for years. Every time that you beat me I had to rewrite it to add to the horror. Besides I didn't want you to find me after I died because the thought of you touching me even after death turns my stomach. I refuse to let you touch me again, in life or death.

I chose to die because I promised God when I married you that I would love you for life. And since I am more afraid of him than you, I chose death. I cannot love you anymore so I have to leave this place. As I look around to this house, you know its funny but I can remember the good times that we shared together. Before the babies, before the drinking, do you remember? I do, and it was good back then. It was almost good enough to give me a little hope that we could get back to those times. And they were good times. I guess I have to settle with the fact that no matter what's going on right now, you once loved me, and even you can't deny that. I think what hurts more than my ribs that are stinging me right now is the fact that I still love you. That realization is stronger than any fist you could ball up and hurl at me. Knowing that my love for you causes a stronger and more lasting pain is much worse than a swift kick in the groin from your steel toed shoes. But this is a pain that I can take care of, something that I can remedy. I am not into pain, even personally inflicted kinds, so I had to relieve myself.

Even as I stood in the mirror this morning admiring the black eye that you gave me last night I knew you would never touch me again. And as I sucked blood from my split, swollen lips I knew I couldn't stand another blow from you. Not because of the fact that you promised with tears in your eyes that you would never do that to me again. Nor the fact that you put your hand on the bible and swore to me that you were going to get help. Not even the fact that you got down on your knees and swore to God that you would never lift a hand to me again. Well your prayers were answered and no, you will not be touching me again. I guess I just had to play God and make sure of that myself.

Last night when I picked myself off of the floor and fell into your arms it wasn't because I wanted to, I just couldn't stand. It wasn't because I wanted you to hold me, as you may have thought. You picked me up carried me to our bed and lay on top of me and kissed my swollen face so soft and gentle. Even though you brushed my hair from eyes and kissed my eyelids, I didn't feel anything. And even though I may have moaned when you licked me between my thighs, I really didn't feel any kind of pleasure. And when you put yourself inside of me and I grabbed your butt and said your name a few times, I was just helping you get it over with. I moaned because your weight was on my stinging ribs. So what that you asked me what the fuck I was doing when I scratched your back, I felt the urge. And when you went to sleep, I laid there under you because I couldn't move. When you finally rolled off of me you were limp and you left your condom inside of me. The condom you searched all over for because you didn't want me to bleed on you like I did last time you kicked me.

I woke up before you this morning and cooked your breakfast like I always do. I hoped you enjoyed the piss in your oatmeal and the blood I sucked from my lip mixed in your jelly. I watched you spread it on bread that I wiped my ass with before I put it in the toaster. I don't even want to tell you what I did with those sausages. I spit in your coffee and watched you eat, noticing the look on your face because you knew something wasn't right. And when you got through with your breakfast, I put your dishes in the sink but I wrapped the knife you used this morning in a napkin and put it in my pocket.

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