Читать книгу William Walker’s First Year of Marriage: A Horror Story - Matt Rudd - Страница 79

‘…and I walked in and he was just lying there, in the hallway…’

This sounds better than the lamb.

‘…I thought he might have just been resting, but when I touched him, he was cold. His body was stiff. He was gone. Gone forever. I should have done something. I should have noticed his suffering sooner. He didn’t deserve to go out like this. I should have put an end to it all. But I let him go on. I let him fight on bravely. To suffer. All for my own selfish motives. And now this. Now this…Dying alone…Alone…On the floor…In the hall.’

Hacking, racking, sloppy sobs. I’m guessing a husband. A lucky husband who’s taken the easy option: slow, painful death in a hallway rather than slow, painful life with Sandra.

‘I picked him up, wrapped him in kitchen towel and flushed him down the loo. He meant so much to me.’

A goldfish? A bloody goldfish? I have to listen to all that for a bloody flipping goldfish. Surprised it wasn’t her husband. I’d have killed myself long ago if I’d been married to this. Or just killed her.

The managing editor ushered me into his office later in the day and pointed out that since Sandra had been recently widowed, it was somewhat tactless to go on about it. I said I had no idea about the widowing and that I hadn’t been going on about it. He said I had. I said I hadn’t. He said I’d been overheard ranting about how I’d have killed myself if I’d been married to Sandra. Or at the very least killed her. I said I’d only thought that, I hadn’t actually said it. He said I had. I said I hadn’t. Unless of course I had been thinking out loud, which sometimes happens. This didn’t seem to make him any happier. He said he’d have to put it in my record. I said fine but that Sandra was really annoying.