I’m Sorry, So Sorry

It’s Complicated: Lit Up & The Writing Cooperative Contest

Image by 470906 from Pixabay

He woke up with his face resting on the tile. His arms were bound to his sides; his legs were bound at the ankles.

She was sitting in a kitchen chair and looking down at him, holding a coffee cup.

The little woman. His wife. He knew he was dreaming because Madge was dead.

Madge was one fat little ugly woman, but her dad was rich. Marrying her had been a good idea. Killing her had been an even better one.

Dragging her deep into the cave and leaving her there might have been too far but what else could he do. She made him so angry. He hadn’t meant to beat her to death. It was her fault.

She looked different somehow. Her hair seemed darker than that mousey dead brown. The bruises weren’t showing so much either.

“Madge,” he said, “Let me go.”

“Humm. No,” she said.

“Listen,” he said, “I didn’t mean to leave you in that cave. It was an accident. I love you, honey. I’m sorry, so sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

He was using the words that worked before.

“No,” she said, brushing her hair back from her face.

“Where have you been, honey?” He said. I would have sent the police but… “his voice trailed off.

She sat the cup on the edge of the table, stood up and reached down to him. His vision blurred as fingertips moved toward his eyes and slowly faded to black.


He woke up. His face was wet. He was lying in a pool of liquid.

His arms were bound to his sides; his legs were bound at the ankles. He felt exhausted. He might be dreaming because Madge was dead.

She was sitting in a kitchen chair looking down at him.

The little woman. His wife.

Her hair was long and dark. The smallpox pits were gone? Long eyelashes curled around her eyes. She wasn’t so fat anymore.

There was no way she found her way out of that cave. She was bleeding to death. There were monsters down there according to the natives. If there were monsters, they didn’t get Madge.

“Madge,” he said, “Let me go.”

“Humm. No”, she said.

“You know I love you. You are the only woman for me. I never meant to hit you. I’m sorry, so sorry. I apologize. I didn’t mean it; I love you, honey.”

She sat the cup on the edge of the table, stood up and reached down to him. There was a bright flash, who was taking pictures? His vision blurred as fingertips moved toward his eyes and slowly faded to black.


He woke up. His face was wet. He was lying in a pool of liquid. His arms were bound to his feet. He was trussed up like a roped cow. He was exhausted. His tail flicked. Was this a recurring dream?

She was sitting in a kitchen chair and looking down at him, holding a coffee cup.

The little woman. His wife?

At least he thought it was his wife; this woman looked nothing like the woman he married. Madge’s eyes, but everything else was different.

“Madge,” he said, “Let me go.”

“Humm. No,” she said.

“Madge. Something is wrong with me. I can barely move. I’m afraid I’m hurt. I feel weak. Help me. Honey, I’m sorry, so sorry about the way I treated you. Those other women meant nothing.”

“No,” she said.

She sat the cup on the edge of the table, stood up and reached down to him. This time he didn’t faint. He saw her mouth, her intention. He screamed and blacked out.

Madge finished her meal. Where there had been a man, now there was a creature. She loved the thing and would keep it safe giving it the love and care it never gave her.

She picked the creature up cradling it in the crook of her arm. She raised her arm, so the sleeve on her blouse slid back. She used her fingertips to pet the creature’s scaly back in long slow strokes.

She leaned down and softly whispered in its ear “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

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