I feared for my life. I had to admit that to myself.
It wasnt so much that I had not seen him angry before, it was only that I
now saw him waving that gun around and screaming like a maniac.
Sure, my intensity also knew no bounds and I could also be seen waving
my hands about and shouting. But I would never grab a gun in rage,
especially not here at home and especially not in front of Mark. I didnt
even know why we had the damn thing here, anyway.
Mark and I had often been seen screaming at each other at such a loud
volume that our neighbors threatened to call the cops on us. Mark's
boss, Principal Ishaan Gupta, had once told Mark that if he controlled
his temper he had a promising career as an Egyptologist ahead of him.
Not only did Mark inspire his students, he also assisted in plenty
excavations and that gave Mark an extra advantage as a lecturer. He
could tell the students more about mummification and more about
archeology because he had had first-hand knowledge. But with his short
temper as intense as it was right now, blowing his fuses was easy and
the principal of the university threatened to fire him if he didnt calm
down.
So, here I was, the balcony door open and wind in my hair, clutching my
coffee cup and watching my husband clutching not a coffee cup, but a
Colt .45, ranting and raving like a criminal because he wanted to go
kill the mayor.
That bastard, he screamed, he cut the funds the history department has
been receiving for years. We need those damn funds. We need education in
this country. The world is going down the tubes as it is. Without
education the world is lost. I will go to that frigging maniac and I
will pull this trigger in his face and splatter blood all over his
million dollar Armani suit. I will blow his brains out.
Those last words rang out past the open balcony door and onto the empty
Sunday street. A dog barked, a gust of wind ruffled my hair and I felt a
tear rolling down my right cheek. The edges of my mouth twitched. I
stuttered, wondering if the words I wanted to utter would help him calm
down or force him to actually take closer action and really go through
with it.
He wont be in his office today, I whispered. If you want to shoot him,
you have to find out where he lives or wait until the morning. But I
wont visit you in jail, dear.
Mark looked at me with those wide open and crazy eyes of his. I saw
those wheels in his head turning, the cogs clicking like crazy along
with the trigger. I tried to decipher if there were bullets in that gun.
If not, I could go up to him and take away the gun. He was not angry at
me, but I wouldnt be taking any chances.
Youre scaring me, Mark, I said, taking one step out on our balcony. I
lift my coffee cup to my unmade morning lips, Revlon yet a stranger to
them and LOreal yet a mystery to my tired cheeks. The coffee was strong,
infecting my heart and making it thump hard in my chest, so hard that I
felt it beating in my throat. The coffee didnt help either, but I felt
my coffee-addiction soaring to new heights as I held it to my cute and
decorative bosom.
That odd feeling of an irregular heartbeat caused by overpowering stress
now completely dominated my existence. Mark would never hurt me. That
much was sure. But his finger on the trigger could easily slip and turn a
difficult situation into a catastrophe. I took a deep breath and spoke
to him, my head glancing over my shoulder. Mark, put the gun away. There
is no need for nonsense like that. You cant change anything by being
silly.
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