Inspired by a daily prompt Foreign
It was Sunday afternoon. Hank was peacefully drinking green tea and watching Stella from his cozy vintage chair through the window of their house. She was cutting a blueberry bush with a sharp gardening scissors and toying with an idea of killing him.
It was a perfect book opening – at least I thought so. I could imagine how you would be flipping the pages in the middle of the night – until you knew the the truth. And then?
You would cry.. Because you wanted to help Stella so much…She was weak. She would live in pain, discomfort and agony if she had to. Or she would breath charcoal dust every single day for the rest of her life, if this would made others happier. But what would she be capable of if her own family betrayed her? Could she kill anybody?
Stella wasn’t my friend. But I knew her well. I spent most of my days with her. I was mentally trapped in my own world. A world she was part of. I was surrounded by everything she did. I was responsible for every decision she made. She reminded me of someone. She reminded me myself. Maybe that’s why she became the main character of my new book. I wasn’t a thriller writer. I just loved writing or more precisely it was my obsession. But with my full time job, I hardly had any time to write lately. My hobby, my dream lead into nights full of frustration as I couldn’t type a single letter for so long. For weeks or maybe months I had a withdrawal syndrome. Maybe this wasn’t a real word, but my friend Louise used to say it when she didn’t touch sweets for weeks.
So back to Stella – she put the scissors down and walked towards the house. With one foot in but the other still touching the grass, she heard her husband talking to someone on a phone – in a foreign language – Spanish – the only language he could speak apart from English. He was laughing; saying her name and then he added: “She has no idea.”
She couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was almost certain he had an affair. It wasn’t the first time he had such a phone call. She went back to the garden, picked up the scissors and returned to their house.
What happened next? She wasn’t a killer. But she wanted him to tell the truth…holding the scissors close to his neck; with tears in her eyes; she made him start talking…
They became two strangers, living in one house. They barely talked. She hated when he was working until late. She hated when he was bringing work home. He slept swirled like a pretzel at the other side of the bed for weeks. She kept wondering why. He couldn’t stop thinking what happened to their marriage. She couldn’t stop sniffing around like a sad fox; looking for a lipstick mark on his collar which would prove he was having an affair.
But back to Stella and Hank – while she was nearly standing on his feet, holding the scissors close to his neck and begging for answers he spitted out: “I’ve ordered you a present…from Spain. It is the heart painting you’ve always dreamt about.”