Our free-write is back by popular demand: today, write about anything — but you must write for exactly ten minutes, no more, no less.
Margaret couldn’t stop thinking about murdering her husband.
Margaret often thought about her marriage. She knew her and her husband were stuck in a rut, and she knew that it was rut that had spanned at least twenty three years.
Margaret knew that her husband had been unfaithful over the years, and she recognised the behaviour that elduded to such infidelities… the mystery phone calls which he strangely needed to always take outside of the house, or the text messages he would receive late at night. She knew that it would only be a fleeting moment in time, and that their years of marriage would always outlast whatever indiscretions came along.
Margaret wasn’t completely alone in partaking in extra-marital affairs either. She did have one encounter with a younger gentleman, whilst interstate at a work conference. Whilst she was away at the annual Stationers Convention 1994 in Adelaide, South Australia, she met a rather handsome gentlemen who worked for a large competitor. There was some shop talk which soon became drinks in the bar, and then drinks upstairs in his hotel room, after much discussion about new ranges of display folders and folios. Suddenly he had began to unbutton her blouse and pressed his lips against hers.
Feeling embarrassed, Margaret had quickly covered herself up, apologised, explaining she was married and left the room. She retreated to her hotel room bathroom and cried for hours, wondering how she could have been so careless and nonchalant about the entire situation until it was too late.
But that was years ago, and it only ever happened once, unlike dear old Walter and his string of young mistresses. Margaret always thought it was quite cooincidental how Walter would start acting funny once the company got themselves a new secretary, and it was always just as cooincidental that none of them seemed to last very long working there.
However, one day she overheard him on the phone, ‘I love you too, darling. It won’t be long, I promise. It’ll just be you and I… I can’t wait either.’ Margaret remained calm and poised as she always did, but inside she was seething with rage.
Plotting and scheming his demise, and ultimately, his murder, she found herself watching numerous shows involving murder and investigation, and she was pretty confident that she had worked out a way to kill her husband, without seeming like a suspect and ensuring the body would never be recovered.
adorablyobnoxious 