It could have been her words. It was nothing I hadn’t heard before, but this… This was Karen. We’d been together since we were seventeen, for crying out loud! We’d fallen in love in the summer and had stayed in love through that long winter. I remember shovelling snow off her driveway in the night, just so that I could be sure that she’d come and visit me the next day. It was a fifteen minute drive there, stretching to half an hour in heavy snow but it was worth it, just to make sure that I got to see her pretty blue eyes every day.
I made that journey a lot, every day of every winter until we moved in together. Then the fights came with the winters. Then the rest of the seasons became poisonous as well, with hostility and a dash of viciousness thrown in as well. Those were the words that really went for the throat.
They hurt my heart, but I don’t think they broke them.
It might have been the look in her eyes as she told me she was leaving, going to her mothers to get away. Those pretty blue eyes were flushed with tears, cutting pale lines across her rosy cheeks. Full of hurt and pain, the suffering of being stuck with me. I thought that I was more than that, more than just the pain. I figured that that pain was just a blip, a momentary spike on our line of happiness.
I guess I was wrong. I still don’t think it broke my heart though.
The door had just closed behind Karen after the final row. She’d thrown a glass at me, she’d thrown the worst words she could find at me. She’d compared me to my father, a waste of space who just damaged those he loved. Then she’d walked out of my life. Even that wasn’t the thing that broke my heart.
No, that honour belonged to the bread knife. It passed between two of my ribs, straight through my left lung and came to rest in the left ventricle. I’d called her name weakly before collapsing to the floor on my back.
The knife stood tall, a parody of the flag on a conquered land. I didn’t even see the person that stabbed me. Just turned around and felt the sharp pain in my chest.
The worst part? Being stabbed and dying wasn’t even the start of my problems.
How to take things literally, a lesson by The Idiot. First, take thing in hand. Then, walk away with it. You have now taken something, literally. Much like I did with this prompt.
That was an awful joke, but a fair one. Sometimes the most fun thing to do with a prompt is to go literal.
The Idiot in Tin Foil