Death to Her Love
By Kenneth Anderson

She curled up in a small corner of their bedroom. She heard his foot steps coming up the staircase as she began to tear up even more. Her mouth was bloody and her hands were swollen. She didn’t want her life to end this way.

David cursed and repeatedly banged on the door. She couldn’t let him in. If she did, it would mean that she’d be throwing her life away. She remembered that there was a gun in the room, somewhere.

It was going to be either his life or hers. She looked under the bed, between the mattresses, in the drawers, and she found nothing. Then she looked up at the shoe boxes on top of the shelf and emptied them all, the 45 caliber gun falling on the floor. As she scrambled on the floor and picked it up, she fell back against a wall and closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of a break-in.

As the lock broke and the door flung open, David rushed at her and she emptied the gun of all its bullets. When she opened her eyes, he was lying down on his stomach and bleeding torrents of blood. He gave his last breath and died away.

Death to the man who said he loved her.
Death to the man who came home drunk every single night.
Death to the man who said he couldn’t be without her.
Death to the man who started all the fights.
Death to her love.