Wife

English Creative
I felt expelled and exiled, but oddly removed as I watched from my self-imposed, hardly gilded prison more constructed of copper bars than that of gold as my husband slowly and laboriously battled his way through the snow at the border of our property while our children dutifully followed. After another bout of irate exchanges and muttered profanities he had left leaving the door gaping so that steadily snowflakes crept past the door mat falling gently on the carpeted floor but then faltered as the heat permeated them and they relinquished their solid form and sunk away to create a watery patchy on the threadbare material. I pondered the demise of the snowflakes before closing the door firmly shut “where you born in a barn Terry?” I spat taking care to inject the simple colloquial phrase with all the venom I could muster even though I knew he could not possibly hear me; it gave me a childish satisfaction. We had both been exiled, I from the relationship and my own family and he more literally from the house. I drifted from room to room contemplating prior events. Terry’s face in my memory of the last fight was distorted and in the heat of the fight I had exaggerated his figure in my mind to create one that echoed menace and animalistic qualities. A low whistle escaped through my lungs, as I moved through the rooms, upstairs and downstairs, around and around. I moved swiftly dodging the furniture that sought to deter my pathway. I passed debris of our fight which had fallen where we had thrown them, creating meaningless litter on the floor. The carnage made me cringe as I entered our small homely kitchen this is where we had shown our swords, battled each other, caused anguish and pain deliberately and delighted as our opponents eyes dulled with it and this is where our children had said “No more mum, we love you but we can’t handle this, we’re going to go with Dad until you two sort this out”. That bastard had brainwashed them against me until in...