(Source: terribleminds)
Dear… (by Sarah Sánchez W.)
Reading and writing. I always have the books out like that too.
I just don’t have an interest in human related research, so it’s not really all that strange that this project on green mussels is getting me excited and I’ve not even sent in the proposal yet.
I love being in the lab and doing lab work. I might be one of the few people who love the practical aspect of science and not so much in the theory, though the theory itself can be mightily interesting, depending on the topic.
As much as I love writing fiction, science will always be my first love. When I get to do both, I’m at my happiest.
She’s been annoying him since he stepped into their home. He was tired. So tired. He’s been at the work site for most of the day and with the sun beating down on him. He may be the head architect but he still has to see his work through to make sure everything is done according to plan. He was barely at the office at all. There were tenders to be reviewed, quotes to be sent to clients and new designs to be looked over; all of which were still waiting for him on his desk back at the office.
Oh God, she’s still on about what Mrs. Goodfrey did to get her cat pregnant again. He couldn’t care less what the old lady did with her cats. She could have stuck her cat in the blender and feed the remains to the stray dog in the neighbourhood and he still won’t care. Well, he’ll feel sorry for the cat but that’s about it.
He hanged his coat in the closet and went up stairs to their bedroom. She followed, now talking about some woman in her office who used too much sugar in her coffee and annoyed the hell out of everyone when she talks. Well you’re annoying me, he said inwardly.
She came in through the door of the bedroom as he took off his shirt.She walked across the room and threw open the french doors to the balcony. Cool air drafted in, cooling his bare skin.
“I hate it that you’re home late all the time,” she began and stretched out on the bed watching him undress. Oh here we go, he thought.
She started complaining about the house maids, the bills, the gardener and everybody else that went through the house including him. She said that his fashion sense were so “yesterday”, that he needs to clock in more hours at the gym or do some laps in the pool. He made some impatient noises as he gets ready for a shower but she didn’t seem to hear her and continued to go on about his physical imperfection.
She got up and strolled into the balcony. “Seriously, what are you doing at the office so late? You better not be cheating with me with that blond bimbo of a secretary of yours. Oh, and those giant sisters that she has on her chest? Not real and a bad job done at that! Who’d pay for such a terrible boob job?”
She went on and on and on, insulting him and everybody else that she new. His ears started to ring. He couldn’t hear himself think. Her voice took over in his head. Her voice seemed to get louder and louder. He didn’t know if she was indeed raising her voice at him or not but she was definitely getting into his nerves. It has been 10 years. He’s had enough. It has got to stop.
She was in the balcony with her back towards him. She’s talking to the sky now, complaining about the moonless sky. He tightened the freshly laundered towel around him under his belly. He marched towards her and closed the gap between her and the railing of the balcony by her neck with his left hand. With the right, he scooped her up by the legs and threw her over the balcony.
She didn’t scream, probably too shocked to do so. It was fine by him. He heard a horrible crunch down at the porch. Without bothering to look down to see how she landed, he turned around and walked back into the room.
“Finally. Some peace and quiet,” he said with a sigh.
Apparently, my sister can write.
If I ever write a book, I will give it this title: Why I Killed Them All, Those Bastards.
Well, I did write a book. Two, even. I just never got around to writing this story out. It will be awesome and gory. Blood drenched and merciless.
