This week I received a writing challenge for a flash-fiction piece. The premise was simply a wife’s murder of a husband and to include sound-effects. It may be selected to be in a podcast of similar works.

This story is unlike most of my work because it isn’t science-fiction. Let me know if you enjoy it. It’s short enough I’ll simply add it to the blog.

Hunting the Brutal Truth

“I hate it out here.” Ronnie flopped onto a fallen log panting slightly and settling heavy hips as if she were a new fungal growth rooting into the dead timber, “If we ever find our way back to a path and civilization I’m going to KILL those guys.”

Veronica nibbled on her lip and moved her rifle to the side furthest from Ronnie. Ronnie raked crunchy leaf bits from frizzled coils of unwashed hair. She continued in the same tone, “Well we could die out here, all shriveled up from thirst and frozen in the night. Searchers would find us in fetal position under dead leaves we’d piled over us to stay warm, corpses roiling with beetles, and all because our husbands thought it would be funny to take us hunting.”

Veronica studied Ronnie’s petulant movements and cleared her throat. Instead of her usual soft voice she adopted a storyteller voice that caught Ronnie’s attention, “A man calls 911. ‘I think my friend is dead! We were hunting, he tripped and the gun went off.’ And the operator says, ‘Stay calm sir. I can help. First, let’s make sure he’s dead.’ There’s silence and then a gunshot. The man gets back on the phone and says, ‘Okay, now what?’”

Ronnie laughed. She held her sides and rolled on the log, her hysteria giving strength to her mirth.

Tiny lines of satisfaction crinkled the corners of Veronica’s mouth.

Ronnie stopped laughing and wiped tears from her eyes, “I’ve been camping with you all weekend and I had no clue you were funny.”

Veronica shrugged and dropped her eyes once more.

Ronnie scooted over on the log, “Carl doesn’t like for you to talk much, huh?” she patted the rippled bark invitingly.

Veronica moved from foot to foot, but didn’t sit with the older woman. “He’s just stressed about work. Being here with his boss . . . ,” she lifted her arm and her weak voice trailed away. Ronnie’s eyes moved to the sleeve that lifted with Veronica’s gesture. Purple and green bruises limned the narrow curve of Veronica’s wrists.

“He seems like he gets stressed a lot.” Ronnie sat forward, “We don’t know each other well, and Derek is Carl’s boss but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Maybe you could use a friend?”
Birds tweeted and things croaked. Something bigger rustled in the distance.

“Do you see them?” Ronnie asked, wondering whether Veronica glanced around because she was wishing the men would appear or fearful that they would.

“No,” Veronica tried to smile, “But Carl brings me out all the time. I can find us a way back, and I’m as good a shot as he is.” She patted the rifle.

“You LIKE camping?”

“Not really,” Veronica admitted, “But Carl likes it.”

“Bully for Carl.” Ronnie muttered.

Veronica picked at a pimple on her cheek and flicked thick foundation from under her nail. Two days without a shower yet she’s wearing full-on makeup. Ronnie inspected what else the makeup might conceal.

Ronnie said, “Actually, I’ve been hoping we’d find some time together. Derek tells me everything, Veronica.” She put on her serious expression, enjoying herself and forgetting they were lost as she circled the topic on her mind.

Veronica frowned slightly, her subdued manner showing its first crack. She slung the rifle over her back and began walking. “What does he tell you?”

Ronnie hurried to follow, “I know you have accidents. I’m his wife, he calls me to tell me when he has a longer work day because you’ve slipped in the shower or tripped on the stairs. Carl’s missed a lot of work recently.”

“Carl and I are going through a rough patch.” Veronica snapped. She turned and stared at Ronnie with wide eyes. “Does Derek really say that?”

“There they are!” Ronnie pointed down the ridge, “Isn’t that them behind that boulder?”
“I don’t see them, but they’re watching that buck, see there?” Veronica hunkered down and Ronnie followed her example. Veronica unslung her weapon

Ronnie put her hand on Veronica’s back, “Look through the sight, can you see them now? “
The tip of the gun moved smoothly as Veronica scanned the brush. Ronnie continued to talk behind her ear, “They want us to rely on them, but you put yourself in their power and they use it to hold you, to control you. They make promises, but the pain is just waiting. I had a selfish ex-husband before Derek so I can understand; how it feels to trust, to wrap your life around someone else.”

Ronnie put her hand on Veronica’s shoulder. The gun had stopped and held in place with firm accuracy.

“Do people know you’re a good shot? It would be so easy to slip up, wouldn’t it? You can hardly see them. No one would be surprised if we got confused, we were lost, and an accident happened.”

Veronica’s eye remained glued to the sight, “You think that? Really?”

“I have two kids. Just think what it would be like if you had kids! Better it end here and now. Did he make you promises? It won’t really be different. I was you, and I would never go back. I lost all faith in men until I met Derek. They think they can inflict whatever they want but you have power too.”

“Oh, God,” Veronica said, “It hurts so much.”

“Accidents happen.” Ronnie held her breath.

Veronica moved her finger from the trigger guard to the trigger. She could feel Ronnie at her shoulder.

Crack!

Echoes of the shot sang back to them as one of the men below slumped over and crimson trickled from his forehead’s receding hairline.

Ronnie gasped and rose to her feet, “You shot the wrong one!” She snatched the long rifle from Veronica as if she might make the same mistake again.

Veronica peered through the greenery at the body. She swallowed and guilty green eyes lifted, “No baby, I didn’t. I’m a good shot.”

“But you shot MY husband.”

“Double-dealing two timer, that’s who I shot. It’s bad enough we were cheating on Carl. But Derek called him a wife beater?” she spat on the ground. “It’s been so awkward, I thought you knew. But you just wanted to help me.”

Ronnie gaped uncomprehendingly.

Veronica yanked her sleeves back and showed the purple of her wrists, “Your husband’s into bondage.”

Ronnie whipped the gun up, “What?!”

Crack!

Tags: flash-fiction, H.E. Roulo, Hunting The Brutal Truth, Short Story, Wicked Women Writers challenge