This week’s story comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara
dreams, reads, edits texts, translates, and occasionally writes in two
languages. She also has a lot of fun.
It’s
done, and it’s a relief
by
Chiara De Giorgi
“So, it’s done.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“Is it?”
“Why, of course.”
“If you say so.”
“Do you have doubts?”
“No, no, of course not.”
“Because you should have talked before, you know.”
“Hey, don’t get upset. I said it’s fine.”
“Well, you don’t sound like you’re fine.”
“But I am, I swear. I just hoped that it could all be
solved in a different way. It’s all in the past, now, though, and I’m fine.”
“I surely hope so, after all the discussions, and
after all that poor guy has been forced to go through! If you had to offer a
different option, then you should have talked earlier. Now it’s too damn late!”
“Don’t I know that? Do you think I’m stupid? I’m not
going to raise doubts now, for C’s sake. I was just talking, You know, letting
it out a bit.”
“All right, all right. No need to get touchy. I guess
we’re all a little shaken.”
“Yeah, it’s not something you normally have to deal
with.”
“Let’s hope it won’t be necessary to deal with it
again in the future.”
“On that, we agree.”
“Well, then. I wish you a good night.”
“Thanks. Good night to you.”
Robert tasted his drink, then sighed and put it down.
He was convinced they had taken the right decision:
after the difficult operation, their old father would be better off at the
nursing home with 24-hour care.
He loved the old man, and the thought of letting him
go was unbearable. Their father wouldn’t have surgery. “Let Nature have her own
way”, he had said. But Robert couldn’t do that. Couldn’t bear to see him die.
So he and his brother Liam had tricked him into the hospital, where he was
taken care of. That was one month ago. Now his brother had finally driven the
old man to the nursing home. It was
done, and it was a relief.
Peter dropped the phone on the kitchen counter and
sighed, then poured himself a generous glass of whiskey. Yes, it was done, and yes, it was a relief. But he still thought that
there might have been another way to deal with their partner in crime. They
could have arranged for him to go away, to settle down in some exotic island,
away from everything. Killing him shouldn’t have been their first option. But
his cousin Andrew had been adamant: once one thinks about talking, the thought
never goes away until it’s been acted upon. And then it would be too late for
all of them. Neither of them wanted to end their life in prison. So they had
taken Simon out. Everything had gone as planned and he, Peter, had been the one
in charge of disposing of the body. Peter smirked and took a sip from his
glass. Of course it had to be him.
Andrew would never get his hands dirty. Anyway. Now there was nothing more to be
worried about.
The Spot Writers—Our Members:
Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/
Catherine A. MacKenzie:
https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/
Phil
Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com/
Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/
Nessun commento:
Posta un commento