Third prize went to Ruth Gallogly for this twisted tale of wedded bliss.
There was a bright beam of light and my husband’s breath hissing out.
“Don’t move,” he said in his best police chief voice, as if I would, glass shattered around me, my robe soaking up the blood pooling by my bare feet.
He bent down over the body, took in the scene as he would at any crime. His flashlight illuminated the glass embedded in the man’s throat before swinging up to the missing bulb. “You did this?”
Such disbelief. He always forgets I was the one who got him through police training.
“It shattered, when he grabbed me. I’d turned on the light but it went out when I came down.”
He reached out, lifted me over the body. “Come. We need to call this in.”
I didn’t look back at my silenced lover as I climbed the basement stairs, my husband’s hand gripping mine.