Breaking Point

        She just didn’t understand, when I get angry all I see is red and still she raved; constantly nagging about this and that, the bills, the kids, blah blah blah blah blah.  I was reaching my breaking point.  Any minute now I would snap.  A tiny voice in the back of my head kept telling me to smash her face with something, anything, just to make her shut up.  In my minds eye I saw her face explode into a million fragments throwing blood and gore in every direction.  It made me smile.  The kids were gone at school, which was a good thing; the little brats were getting on my last nerves.  I was really considering therapy or something due to my frequent hallucinations of a bloody end for my family and a happy life for me ever after.  I had to get out of this room.  For your own sake woman you have to shut up now.  Of course, being a woman, she didn’t.   
   
    "I'd like to know what you think is so damn funny Stephen."  I just shrugged, my smile stayed put.  She started to say something, her mouth opened but her words caught in her throat. 
"What?"  The question was small, uneasy.  I just shrugged and smiled my secret smile.  I had no problem killing this woman.  Her voice was like tiny particles of glass stuck in my eye.  I thought a gash in her neck would greatly improve her appearance. 
   
    "Nothing honey."  I reached out to touch her, maybe choke her.  She jerked away, her eyes wide and frightened. 
"What's wrong baby?"  I took two steps towards her, she took two steps back. 
"Don't you love me anymore?"  Her bottom lip began to tremble, just a little. 
   
    "Stephen you’re scaring me."  Her back hit the kitchen counter, a surprised gasp rushed to her lungs.  Her breaths were coming in rapid intervals.  She was hyperventilating. 
   
    "What's wrong baby, you can't breathe?"  I snatched a butcher knife from the rack beside me,
"Let me clear that up for you." 
   
    She screamed as I lunged for her, I slashed air as she dogged to her left.  She was crying now.  I started toward her, slowly I stalked my prey.  Her violent shaking sent a surge of pleasure up my spine.  Her pleading sobs were music to my ears. 
"Come on Carla," I taunted, "Tell me what else I didn't do right." 
I slashed at her, I knew she was out of range; I just wanted to hear the terror it pulled from her.  She ran out of the kitchen screaming, a beautiful sound I assure you.  I chased her ecstatically.  I haven’t had this much fun in years.  The pure look of fear on her face was better than Monday Night Football.  Hell, it was better than the best sex I’d ever had.  I noticed she was going for the front door.  Not a good thing.  I would really prefer it if the neighbors didn’t get involved in my new found hobby.  So I sped up my gamely stalk to a full fledged sprint and slammed my hand on the door just as it began to open.  She looked up at me sobbing, unable to speak, and backed into the wall of the foyer.  Finally I had her in a corner; she slid to the floor begging for her life.
"Please." she cried.  "Stephen please I'm sorry." 
   
    Light sickled down the sharpened edge as I knelt to eye level, "Carla, sweetie."  I used my sweetest voice.  "It's too late for sorry."  I raised the knife.  I'll never forget the look on her face as I swung it down.