‘We shouldn’t have had them in the first place. I bloody told her it was too
soon,’ Tom groaned, slowly sliding the knife of the blade back and forth over
the oiled sharpening stone. An icy chill thrust then up his spine as he touched a
fingertip against the blade edge. Again, Tom wrestled with his conscience, the
alcohol that he had earlier consumed destroying his ability to think properly,
creating a falsehood in his own reasoning.
The silenced ambience of the moon-lit garage was interrupted by the
unexpected rain as it spattered noisily onto the corrugated roofing, and
constantly tapped against the window like tiny drumming fingers.
‘Maybe it would be better if I just killed myself instead,’ Tom grunted,
removing piece of coiled rubber pipe from underneath the workbench,
attaching one end then to the exhaust pipe of his car. ‘I can’t bloody believe
this__ please God, help me. Please forgive me for what I’m about to do,’ Tom
continued, moistened eyes staring skyward then before slicing the knife
through the carefully measured piece of pipe then attached the severed end
at the passenger side door and secured it by winding up the window.
Tom rested muscular arms on top of the car roof, head bowed onto his
forearms as he reflected on the past two years that had seen his wife, Emily,
become paralysed following a horrific car crash. The steady decrease in trade
as his customers tended to shop at the large supermarkets in town. His
business then losing profits at an alarming rate causing him to sack the
assistants, but worse, he had to let go of the housekeeper, who had cared for
his wheelchair bound wife and the two young children.