Southern Comfort

It was a cold night. The fire was burning low, the wood a delicate shade of amber. He couldn’t recall it ever being so cold. The weatherman hadn’t mentioned anything on the news but he had learnt not to trust the weatherman since the flood last year. The family was seated at the table eating supper. He wanted to stay away from the table tonight. Somehow he had lost his appetite.
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It was her fault. Her constant bickering had almost driven him crazy. “CHOP THE WOOD!! DO THE DISHES!! TAKE OUT THE TRASH!!” “YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING SON OF A BITCH!!” He had learnt to turn a deaf ear to her sardonic tone.
All she ever did was tell him what a miserable piece of shit he was. There was no love, no compassion, no sense of longing left in him. Sometimes he just wanted to kill the whore.

It had started a year ago, right after the flood. He used to work for a gentleman called Gary Sutherland, the richest land-owner this side of the Mississippi. His father had worked for Mr. Sutherland’s father and since he had never been to school, all he knew was how to sow and reap cotton. And he was damn fine at that. He was better than them Nigers, oh yes siree, he was. Then, out of the blue it had started to rain and By Jove!! Rain it did. People started joking that they would have to start building an ark. Their jest was to be short lived.

The Mississippi swelled and by the fourth day of incessant rain, it had crossed the red line. Fields of white soon met their watery grave. Houses were swept away; hundreds of people lost their lives, thousands of livestock were lost. He didn’t know how they had endured the cold water sitting on the roof, the rain pelting down like nails on their half naked bodies. He had prayed, prayed really hard.

The rain finally ceased, the water receded. Normalcy returned within a month. But....not for him. The river had not been kind to him. He lost his job, his wife’s love and his community’s respect. People don’t care about the past. All they can do is offer pity. He was a good for nothing son of a bitch but it had been his wife’s relentless display of hate that had made him defiant and incapable of doing anything. Them nigers had all got jobs due to some ‘trying to be magnanimous’ politician. His family had been surviving on dole.

But today was different. He told the bitch that he had found a job and wanted to tell her all about it, so if she could take a walk with him he would be highly obliged. She looked at him and with a huff picked up her coat. He led her to his favourite spot in the woods where he often used to sit and procrastinate. He sat her down and looked at her.

She still looked pretty with those big brown eyes and auburn hair. He reached out to touch her, she slapped his wrist. He held out his hand again and this time she whacked him across his jaw. “FUCK YOU,” she said. “What is it that you want to tell me?” she demanded.
“I Love You” he said, his eyes fixated on hers. She looked at him, confused. Then without warning, he hit her. “FUCK YOU BAAA…” another fist now in her stomach.
He threw her on the ground and started to tear her clothes off. She was delirious by now and half out off breath but somehow managed enough strength to sock him in the face.

“FUCK YOU WHORE….STOP SCREAMING… I’LL FUCKIN KILL YA” said he.
She decided to give into his will and he let his animalistic instincts take over. By the end of it, she lay covered in blood with a glazed look in her eyes and he stood over her like a lion over a fresh kill. He, then, reached into his pocket and pulled out a dagger with which he started stabbing her. “BITCH...WHORE...YOU’LL NEVER SHOUT AT ME AGAIN”
He continued to stab her till he could almost see her insides. Then he proceeded to tear the flesh from her bones working legs up. He felt no remorse, what so ever.
He flung her ripped carcass into the bushes. “The wolves will take take care of that” he thought to himself.
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His kids looked happy. They were eating well tonight. He had promised them a big meal and he had delivered. There was meat, lots of it and he had managed to steal bread and coke from the local store.
Little Annie picked a morsel, looked at him and asked “Where’s Mommy, Daddy?”
He looked at her and then at the food. She seemed puzzled but chose not to ask him again and carried on eating.
He smiled and walked away from the table.