Flash Fiction

“Well,” she thought. “That’s just about what I expected.” She stared down at the small bullet hole, oozing blood. She looked up, into the barrel of the pistol, and on into the eyes of her husband.

 “No, not quite,” she thought. She had thought he would poison her. She had thought he was a coward. But no, he didn’t, he wasn’t.

 He stood there, pistol in hand. Forty years of pain in his eyes.

 “At last,” she thought. “At last, I have found it.”

 She said aloud, “Feels good, doesn’t it? Being the one in charge?”