Flash Fiction: Mr Husband

Disclaimer: No husband was harmed in the making of this story. None of the thoughts in this story are derived from or directed at the you-know-which husband. He is hail and hearty and continues to be the only love of my life.

I sent this story to a contest and nothing happened. These are times when I am glad I have a blog where I can publish everything I write and not feel contested. In need for some much sought after validation. To the seven people who read my blog, let me know what you think of this story. It’s 300 words because it’s flash fiction (#whaaat)!


 

Mr Husband

Their anniversary was without fanfare. For 20 years, the only departure had been an elaborate dinner in place of their usual chapati and curry. This year on the menu was Khow Suey, a Burmese noodle soup.

Kitchen was her happy place where she cooked up the vegetables she grew. With a dozen condiments, Khow Suey was a labour of love for a dinner for two. You had to caramalise garlic and onions, chop herbs, roast peanuts, saute mushrooms and boil eggs.

She loved these laborious tasks. They kept her mind from racing. She had been married off at eighteen. He was a decent man, her husband. Soon, they were raising two children and by the time she turned 40, it was just the two of them again.

Who was she? A quiet married woman who talked to herself, holed up in her kitchen while her husband got lost in a world he entered through the newspaper? And what about him? A man with no complaints or surprises; content with his job, family and the drama the newspaper offered?

Their life was an ode to familiarity. Mornings, they went for a walk. She made breakfast while he got ready for work. Once he left, she cleaned up, took a bath, napped a little and tended to her garden. She would be busy cooking dinner when he got home. Their lives weren’t boring, she reasoned. Such was life.

Chopping mushrooms, she heard herself say, “That’s what I’ll do. I’ll grow some mushrooms, cook them up into a deadly curry and feed it to my dull old Mr. Husband. That should do him in, no?”

Her murderous plans where still on when the doorbell rang. She opened the door, took his lunch box and asked him about his day.

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