Wrath

Jonathan drives home from work, anxious to eat some of his wife’s dinner. He imagines a scrumptious pot roast, simmering it its creamy gravy with a side of buttery mashed potatoes. His stomach ravenously growls in agreement to this thought. To top it off, his beautiful wife would greet him with her stunning smile, gently brush her lips against his, and take his coat. He sped into the driveway and nearly jogged to the front door, totally ignoring the foreign black car in the driveway while he opened the door. No delectable smells greeted him.

A scream of delight reverberates through the hallway; coming from the bedroom. Dumbstruck he follows the sound. Looking in the crack of partially opened door, he stiffens, jaw clenched. The gnawing monster in his stomach climbs to his heart, scratching it to a pulp. It begins to grow and burn in his chest with ongoing strength. This monster has robbed him of reason, and grows with such animosity to the point were it is right underneath his skin; he is the monster. He burst into the room with a savage, indignant bellow. Everything is bled of purpose to Jonathan. The only thoughts that survived this hemorrhage are loath, betrayal, mar, and above all wrath. Pure, un-tampered wrath. It pounds through his veins like poison, poisoning his mind, and his soul.

The unknown man rolls from on top of Jonathan’s wife, with a growing look of apprehension plastered to his face. Jonathan’s wife gasps, pulling the covers around her.

“Honey, I thought you had a meeting today.” She blurts out, eyes wide with fear.
Jonathan laughs, a laugh full of malice. So full of cruelty it seems to pollute the air.

His wife shudders at hearing this laugh.


“Well, Honey, looks like YOU thought wrong.” He hissed, lunging at her, hands clamped into fists.