A Woman’s work is never done.
I had told them so many times to pick up after themselves and leave things how they find them. Is that too much to ask? I mean I know it’s my job as a wife and mother to take care of them and to run the home, but I am only one woman and I can’t do everything, all the time.
The day had started out badly. Towels on the bathroom floor, clothes tossed all over the bedroom, dirty coffee cups on the dining room table and a sink full of dirty dishes. Then he comes down demanding to know where his coffee is, and have I got the paper in off the front step. ‘Breath, just breath’ I say to myself. He’s just a silly man, who can’t do things for himself, he would be lost without me.
Then the children come stomping down the hall, in to the kitchen, dragging book bags behind them. ‘where’s breakfast mum’ and ‘have you ironed my football kit’ from Johnny, so like his dad. Sally is glued to her phone, but manages to hold out a coffee mug. Bless her, its such hard work being little miss popular.
I pour their coffee, serve up breakfast and fetch the paper. I find homework, run an iron over a football shirt and finish packing lunches. Just 10 more minutes and they will off out the door to work and school. Then I can get down to some light house work and then start to think about what to fix for dinner.
Then it happens I hear a loud mew at the back door and He yells ‘for Christ sake Susan let the cat in, or do I have to do everything for you’. what was I thinking, stopping to sip me Luke warm coffee? Instead I scurry of to the door and open it for the cat. In she comes and jumps up on the beautifully clean counter top and drops a dead and stinking mouse next to the coffee pot. That’s when thing get I little fuzzy …
I seem to recall picking up the coffeepot and swinging it at Bret’s head, then bringing it down repeatedly, the blood splattering all over the kitchen blind. The was a scream coming from somewhere and a gagging sound. Next thing I remember is the door slamming, me turning around to see the shocked faces of Sally and Johnny. Then the is shoe flying, the heal in baling Johnny to the fridge by the hand.
Next thing I recall is a retching sound coming from Johnny and me standing in a pool of blood, with a knife in one hand and sally’s tongue in the other. Her lifeless body at my feet, bloody and her pretty little head off in the other side of the kitchen.
Johnny was trying to pull his hand free, but I seem to of done a good job of keeping it in place. Now I know why those shoes cost quit so much! Walking slowly towards him, I feel a sense of calm and relief wash over me. only to be shattered by a high-pitched scream, then the sound of a knife hitting flesh and bone and then a soft thud and splash as his insides hit the floor.
At last the house is quiet and still, as I sit at the kitchen counter, sipping my coffee and servicing my handy work. The lifeless body of my husband, slumped in his chair at the head of table, his head and face a pulpy mess. My beautiful daughter lays on the floor, in a puddle of her slowly congealing blood, phone still in her hand, and her head clean off her shoulders. Johnny’s body hangs from the fridge by his hand, his guts at his feet.
I shake myself from my little day dream and breath a heavy sigh. ‘come on Susanne, time to get on’ I tell myself. ‘look at this mess, someone needs to clean it up’. I stand up stepping over sally’s body, thinking ‘I’m never getting the blood out of my dress’