Piggy

Here we go again. Another one of his rants. I’d just sat down. I returned from feeding the pigs and started the kettle boiling. I was dying for a lovely cuppa. It was a hot day, the perfect weather for shovelling pig crap and listening to another one of Lee’s rants. I’m seventy-six now, I don’t have much life left to waste.

‘Have you seen this on the telly love? Two bloody men prancing around like they own the world. I don’t know how these bloody perverts are allowed to just roam the streets. Bring back the days when they were stoned in prison or something of the sort. I do not want to see that disgusting display in my living room. I fought in the war you know!’ There it was. Always the war. He went to the war in 1945 a week before the thing was finished. He wasn’t exactly the saviour of the free world. You’d think the amount he goes on about the war he personally defeated Hitler. Arse. The kettle started to get lukewarm 

‘To top it all off guess what? One of them’s oh what are you supposed to say now? Ethnic. I miss the days you could call them exactly what they were. Either way they should all bugger off back to where they came from. Disgusting creatures. They aren’t people.’ Ah yes Lee is also a racist. As if he didn’t already have so much going for him as it was. Pig. No not a pig, my pigs were beautiful creatures with more intelligence to not be bothered by something as minimal as race or sexuality. He was a rat. With less sexual appeal. When we got married things weren’t much different. I married him because I’d just turned thirty, and to be an unmarried woman at thirty people started to ask questions. Not that I cared. I just wanted my parents off my back so I married the first man I saw. Unfortunately that man was Lee.  Look at him sat on that sofa, I thought, a lazy, degenerate who’s worth no good to anybody. I paid his ridiculous comments no mind and wiped down the table as the kettle began to heat up. I needed this cuppa. Or something stronger. 

‘Where’s my cuppa woman? Bloody hell you’re slow. You’re meant to provide for me you know? Your sole purpose is to see to my needs and you can’t even bloody do that. Honestly that’s another thing we need to get rid of. Lazy women who can’t even see to me right. Look at you sat there on your arse doing nothing. Go do some washing or something.’ The trifecta, sexist, racist, and homophobic. I often didn’t speak out against his horrid behaviour towards me. I just imagined a life where I was allowed to have friends and we would go dancing and get a little too drunk for our age and have a brilliant time. Sipping margaritas by a pool in some hot country with my best girlfriends and a good book. No men for miles around. Rising to Lee’s ridiculous comments would just entice an argument further which, at my age, isn’t something I felt like I needed. The kettle was now nearly ready. 

‘Are you listening to me woman? Do something instead of sitting there ignoring me! Rude cow. I married you. That means you treat me like a god. Get me some food!’ Today I felt different. Something new inside me came to life. A streak of rebelliousness. No, I wasn’t going to get him something to eat. He could get off his fat arse and get it himself. He had legs. I think. Under that heaping mound of a stomach. I continued to sit at the table and wait for the kettle to boil, which had just started to bubble.

‘Don’t you dare ignore me you tamp! Oi! Listen to me when I am talking to you!’ He shouted louder and spat in my direction in doing so. How very graceful. Maybe today was the day to speak up. Why not. I’d wasted forty-six years of my life sitting quietly. He rose from his seat. Hallelujah. He plodded over to me and slammed his hands down on the table.

‘Is something the matter dear?’ I said as sweet as a button. I gave him a loving smile.

‘Where is my food! How dare you ignore me! Get me my food! Do you want me to starve?’

‘Oh I don’t think that’s possible dear, you’ve got plenty of fat in reserve.’

That was it. I’d done it. Finally. I argued back for the first time in forty-six years. It felt so liberating. I could see a large blue vain throbbing in his temple. He was enraged. I was delighted. The Kettle had now boiled.

‘What did you just say to me? How dare you give me lip when I’ve provided everything for you. You ugly old bitch.’ He slapped me right across the face. That didn’t bother me. It wasn’t the first time. ‘Now where is my bloody cup of tea?’ He screamed

‘It’s here darling!’ I said extremely gently as I lifted the boiling kettle and smashed it right into the throbbing blue vein in his temple. He screamed and fell to the floor and it felt so good that I did it again. Again. Again. Again.

I finally made that cup of tea. It felt very refreshing. I’d just been out and fed the pigs again. I don’t normally give them meat but they certainly enjoyed it. They just couldn’t stop gobbling it up. Good thing too as there’s plenty of it left in the freezer. It was nice to have a bit of peace and quiet around here.

This was the first short story I ever wrote! If you enjoyed this story, you can read this and so many more in Abramacabre, which is now FREE on Amazon Kindle! Grab it while you can.

 

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