Short Story 14: Sins of the Father
[Happy New Year readers! This is my take on a competition from Wimbledon Bookfest last year, which we decided to try out at my writing group. The competition called for an interpretation of any one or more of the “Seven Deadly Sins” and it had to be no longer than 200 words. Can you guess my sin/sins.]
Twenty years of the best part of her life and he had left her for that tramp. She had given him everything and it meant nothing. She hadn’t seen him in six months but when they had to identify his body, they came to her. She was still legally his wife; for this, the tramp didn’t count. She stared at his face, a bluish-grey shade now that there was no life in it. They said it was an accident; the pipe had flown off the back of a lorry and gone through his windscreen ripping a hole the size of a 5p coin through his heart. But she knew better.
At precisely 12.03am, the time of the accident, she dreamt that he came home to beg for her forgiveness. All her rage had come bubbling up as she picked up the closest thing, a ballpoint pen, burying it deep into his chest. She had woken up shivering but she wasn’t superstitious so she thought nothing of it till she got the call. She sighed as they led her away from the body, wondering if the tramp would send her that red tie the kids had given him last Christmas. It would go so well with a mahogany coffin.