Brain Damage

The soothing sounds of the tuned eclipse echoed, as the blood erupted and ran down their temple. The glistening eyes matched the enamel of the shards that swiftly drained the body. The bedroom became layered in wood chips and smoke, puffing it’s lungs, like a woodland animal during a forest fire. Auntie didn’t mean it. Something had gone wrong.

Auntie was a good woman, a scholar: a proud woman of three beautiful, strong girls, and a loving and caring wife. She had a quaint little house on Danbury Lane. She loved her neighborhood, and loved her town. She married her high school crush in ‘68, and they began a wonderful family together. Emphasis on “began.”

Auntie had 23 fantastic years as a loving wife, mother, scholar, and a good woman. But after the youngins grew to become hard working, independent older-ins, the household grew to much bickering and controversy — it became utter mayhem. Her three beautiful girls drifted away from her, leaving the nest in an angry haze. After that, Uncle became an alcoholic, regretting most of his miniscule and meaningless life decisions. He fell out of the marketing business (much like one would fall out of a moving train), and found that he could do with a much slower-paced job; construction.

Auntie realized and accepted that she would continue her journey, taking care of an embarrassing, heap of nothingness, waste-of-human-resources construction worker, that she still loved deep down. VERY deep down. After downsizing to a small, decrepit, health hazardous apartment, and selling most of her precious belongings, Auntie found solace with what she had.

At this point, Uncle didn’t spend too much time with Auntie. He preferred to eat his TV dinners alone while watching reruns of  M.A.S.H. He blamed himself for everything that went wrong with the family. Auntie blamed herself too, but she knew the wounds would heal with time. The dull days ticked and wasted away.

Auntie felt like they were growing distant every day. They fought more and more; it was endless. Every day, you could hear from outside, “Turn off that damn psychedelic, rock n roll crap, woman!” or “Can you stop leaving your trash on the couch? What if we have company?!” They never did have company. They were shunned out of their respective friend groups and book clubs.

Auntie still held out hope. She knew that one day, she could convince her husband and herself that everything was fine, and that her kids would come crawling back. Auntie never knew how bad it had gotten until Uncle threw a toaster at her head. He didn’t mean to do it, but the anger took control, and it just happened. He was so angry, and threw it so hard, he almost put Auntie into a goddamn coma.

After the ambulance came, she was put into the hospital. Uncle had to buy the groceries and made himself food. All he bought were raisins and wine coolers. He slowly adjusted to his new lifestyle. At first, it wasn’t too bad. All that was different was that he had to get up and leave the house more often. But after a few days, he started to miss Auntie. Delivering him TV dinners, along with the newspaper and a cold beer; He didn’t realize how alone he felt.

The day had come. After a long week, It was time to pick up Auntie from the hospital. Uncle was excited to see his wife again. She emerged from the hospital like a newborn deer, hesitant to walk, yet doing it anyway. They drove home, and Uncle pretended like nothing had happened. He was a little nicer than usual, which he thought Auntie would appreciate. He even let her play some of her favorite music, most of which Uncle despised. Auntie felt distant. She looked uncomfortable and confused. She stared at Uncle every so often. Not with any old stare. The kind that sent knives through your soul. Uncle didn’t understand. Why was Auntie like this?

The behavior continued throughout the weeks. She wanted to be alone. She started to spout nonsense, about how Uncle was a “double,” and that he was not who he claimed to be. Auntie made it clear that she wasn’t afraid of him, frightening Uncle for his safety. Rightfully so, too. Auntie started to hide sharp objects around the house. He called for the hospital to pick her up and take her away. He didn’t want to lose Auntie, but he didn’t want to lose his life either.

Auntie, overhearing Uncle’s plans, equipped herself with a serrated kitchen knife. She started chopping towards Uncle. He ran into the bedroom, maintaining an adrenaline count higher than his cholesterol. He tried barricading the door, but all the furniture seemed to be bolted down. Auntie was prepared. She started screaming, and hacked away at the door, just like something out of The Shining. Uncle was panicking. He tried finding something to defend himself with, but his assorted array of guns had been ransacked. Auntie always hated guns.

He ran to the window, which was screwed shut, and banged on it for help. There was nothing he could do. Auntie eventually made it through the door, leaving specks and slivers of mahogany scattered across the floor. Auntie had a fearful, yet slightly demonic look in her eye, slowly advancing to uncle. Def by the sound of her own drum, she wielded her knife, ready to strike. Blood spurted out of Auntie’s head as Uncle cowered in fear. Uncle raised his head and arms quickly, in time to catch the brutal corpse of his former wife. A heavily disgruntled police officer stands before Uncle and his betrothed corpse.

Uncle wept as he held his wife in his arms underneath the shining skyline. The police officer leaves the two alone, turning off the record player. The silence in the room echoed, as the moon eclipsed the sun.