Offended

• Lisa Mandeltort, Grade 11
• Short Story
• 2008

I walk out of the smoky club, footsteps reverberating with the beat of my heart. The music can still be heard, but not lyrics. It is cold; mist pervades the air as I exhale into the moonlight. A streetlamp casts a pallid shadow, extending form beyond proportion. Car alarm shrieks, cat howls. Gradually I walk away from him.

Heartbeat slows as the adrenaline fades, clearing my head for thoughts and memories to fill. His eyes, face, wavy hair glinting reflections of the sun. Encountering them, together, in a very uncomfortable looking position. Not that she seemed to mind. I could barely leave dissolving into a pathetic puddle on the floor. I thought I knew him better; I was wrong.

Speeding up; the pounding of sneakers on the tarmac removes these troublesome thoughts. I used to run a lot, with him, less lately. He’s been working late, perhaps not at all… must run faster. Thoughts are superseded by adrenaline.

I approach the park, my limbs screeching for rest. Sinking into the grass, it seems soft as velvet. Soft like fairy floss; dim chartreuse in the moonlight. It hasn’t been cut for a while, and for this sponge I am grateful. No need to fear dreaming; I am too exhausted.

Awaking the next morning, I hear a faint gurgling sound; mixture of someone gargling mouthwash and the tinkling of church bells. I rise to investigate, muscles aching. I discover a stream, and note my reflection. Hair like I’ve gone disastrous, eyes bloodshot, face a delightfully blotchy red; a strange imprint on one side, possibly from my unusual sleeping style. Lifting a hand to move a fallen strand of hair, I find it sticky. Annoyed, I decide to wash my hands in the stream. The water is delightfully cool; I ‘accidentally’ tumble in. The refreshment spreads, removing all traces of dirt and angst.

It is as I heave myself from the water that I notice the police. I stand unobtrusively behind a nearby oak tree. They are dispersed across the park, some observing last night’s luxury accommodation. I turn and dive back into the river; splashing, hitting my head, swimming downstream. I hear the last vestiges of a whistle, diluted through the water. My limbs betray me as my fiancée did last night; I start sinking, my vision fades.

Silence. An eternity later, rough hands drag me ashore. Silence. CPR is orchestrated on my apathetic corpse. Silence. A heart beat, gasping breath for those who listen.. Manacles cruelly slap around my wrists. Silence. The policeman talks, a stern look in his eye. Another man, a minion by his subservient body language, brings a sealed bag with my favourite steak knife over for inspection. I didn’t do a very good job cleaning, it would seem. I would have made a terrible housewife. Silence. They turn to me, demands for truth in their eyes and mouths. I hear nothing but the sweet, melodious silence.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.