Bottleneck (a short story)

Bottleneck | Memee's Musings
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The bottle was almost empty. Just another sip. He cleaned his mouth with his sleeve. The house was still dark. He was cold. She would be home soon. And then he would show her. He would teach her a lesson. Nobody was allowed to treat him like this. He would show her! How dare she leave him. For that guy! He took another sip. The bottle was empty. Maybe he would use the bottle. She had to suffer. He would take his time. Suddenly a car was pulling up. A smile on his face he pressed his body closer to the wall, hiding in the dark.

It was 2:45 in the morning and it was the same as it was every night since she had met Ralph three and-a-half years ago.  She would be out playing, partying with Ralph; having sex with Ralph while he sat at home miserable and lonely. She didn’t care about him, she had never really loved him.  That much was obvious!  If she had she wouldn’t abandon him night after night for a man who didn’t respect her enough to marry her.  She probably wished that she didn’t have a son at all.  She probably regretted giving birth to him.  They probably laughed about him and his struggles with schoolwork, his lack of friends. They probably joked about his father not loving him enough to stick around.

Well, he’d show her. He didn’t need her for the six measly hours she spent at home to keep up appearances for the neighbors. And he didn’t need her for the other 18 hours he spent each day fending for himself.  He’d practically been running the household since he was eleven anyway.  He got himself dressed, fed and to school each day. He got the mail, forged her name on checks to buy their food and pay the bills. He cleaned the house, mowed the lawn and made dinner.  He was the man of the house, the responsible one. No one would even notice if she was gone.  Everything would be the same. Everything except the pain.  The pain would be gone. She’d be gone and he wouldn’t have to take care of her every night when she came stumbling in after her exploits with Ralph.  Dirty, filthy, slimy Ralph. She’d just be gone and life would be simpler.

He knew how to keep up appearances.  Heck, he was a master at it!  His teachers had no idea of what was going on in his life, not the doctor or his dentist.  Not even the nosy Mrs. Cragmire who lived across the street knew the secrets of what went on at 563 Wildwood Lane.  No, he’d covered up the fact that his mother verbally assaulted him each night on her return, calling him a loser and a failure, a worthless good-for-nothing son.  He’d covered up the fact that his mother abandoned him each day so she could be fucked up the ass by that sleezeball Ralph!  Well, he wouldn’t have to protect his mother anymore.  He could have a life. He could maybe even make some friends and go to Idelwilde Bridge for beers around the bonfire each weekend.  Maybe he’d even meet a girl there one night.  He could feel normal.  He could be free. All he had to do was get rid of her once and for all!  He could do it and he’d get away with it too.  If the past three and-a-half years had taught him anything it was that people are either stupid, blind or both!

“Ralph, wonderful Ralph,” she thought to herself as she stumbled up the steps and fumbled with her keys trying to get them to fit into the lock.  How she adored him with his soft brown eyes and wavy brown hair.  And the way he looked at her, especially tonight, wow, it just melted her heart away!

“I am the luckiest girl in the world,” she said to herself as she stepped into the foyer of her home, hanging her coat on the coat tree.  No one had ever treated her to such extravagances. And until Ralph came along she never knew she could feel so beautiful, so special and so wanted.  She glanced down at the diamond and sapphire ring he’d placed on her finger earlier that night. “It’s amazing,” she thought, “it even sparkles in the dim light coming through the window!”

It was then that she heard her son’s steps quickly approaching from behind. “Joseph, I have news!” She said, turning to face her son.  And that’s when she saw a flash of green, just a small glint of light from the streetlamp outside hitting whatever he held at his side.

“Yeah, Ma, you have news? Well, guess what? I have news too!” I’ll go first. And with that he reached out simultaneously with both arms. His left hand resting atop her right shoulder, pulling her forward as his right hand, the one holding the broken beer bottle slashed across her throat, the jagged edges cutting deep while the blood exploded from her neck, shooting against him and the walls, the floor. And in an instant she dropped to the floor.

“That was too fast,” he thought to himself, “maybe the bottle had been a mistake.”  She really hadn’t suffered, not really.  “Oh, well, at least that slut-bitch cunt is gone!  As he looked down at his mother lying on the floor, the blood continuing to spurt and spray from her throat he whispered into the air, “Was he worth it, Ma?”

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The above short story was inspired by Author S B Mazing’s blog event Finish It!, which began as a Blogging201 assignment meant to further expand our blogging experiences as well as our strength of community. Do one, or do them all, it’s up to you; Join her event to experiment with a story prompt and give your fingers a shot at flash fiction… every Wednesday she’ll provide a new prompt! This story came from Finish It! prompt #29.

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Interested in reading more of my short stories? Head on over to Memee’s Supershort Stories

© MemeesMusings/B.L. Memee, 2015-2017. All rights reserved.

21 thoughts on “Bottleneck (a short story)

  1. This is really good. I like the duality. The promise of his mother’s view of Ralph, versus the rage of being replaced. You have everything down her. Characters flawed to prefection

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    1. Thank you! You don’t think my lack of descriptions or detail is problematic or too beginner? I just reread it and I did get discriptive there at the end when he killed her. Also I used horrid language because I was trying to capture the age and immaturity of a 15-year-old boy. Still, the language makes me nervous. I wouldn’t change it but it is so out of my wheelhouse.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Actually the growing details gives me a rush of action. The pinnacle of his accomplishment to define his separation from her. It comes through strong. I feel tension that built and snapped. You force me to buy into details I want. The coarse words fit the age. I can see if anyone agrees with a Reblog. Of course, no guarantee on results.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I tried to Reblog it. It didn’t seem to work when I “pressed it”. I’m on iPad, which I hate. When phone gets juiced up, I’ll make sure it gets out to my 200 or so follows.

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      3. Ok it’s out there. I pressed it and couldn’t see it last night. I had a separate post with nothing but “please read this” I got three likes and nothing was attached!

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      4. LOL… you know those people really loved it! I read a short story a few days ago that someone wrote. I couldn’t follow it at all and English was definately not the person’s first language, I mean it was terrible. And they got all kinds of fantastic feedback about how amazing it was. It really shocked me. I get “likes”, not many, but people rarely engage. It certainly makes me wonder what I am doing wrong as a blogger!

        Liked by 1 person

      5. I have two blogs that come in Spanish, do I put them through “Google translator” and wonder if their language or dialect is weird or the translator fills in the blanks. Either way I know what you mean about glowing reviews. I read a thousand word story in three paragraphs. Eighty things happened at once. I told him to break it up some, give the read a chance to see individual parts.

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Unfortunately this was inspired by a real event which happened in my world last year. Life’s experiences find a way to seep up in unexpected moments. Writing heals which is why this blog came into being in the first place.

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