A Red Dot

They never tell you much work it takes to kill someone she thought. She exhaled deeply, lamenting the fact that she did this, like all things in her life, alone. She slid down the wall to the floor, spent. Sweat beaded on her forehead and glided down her face, landing between her breasts. She smelled like a woman fed up- tangy but powerful; guilty but unapologetic.

She licked her lips and tasted blood; the skin was split. He did it, she thought. He got one last hit in. Just like he said he would. Glancing over at his body, she swelled with pride- the giant had fallen. He’d been larger than life in their studio apartment, taking up all of her space. She hadn’t had room to breathe in four years. His weight, his size, suffocated her all day, all the time. Even when she wasn’t home. Not surprisingly he’d gotten into the habit of tracking her cell phone. Countless times before this she’d gotten the same visual- her as a tiny red dot under his finger and watchful eye. Every step, every stop, every pause, was judged by this pseudo-god and made her hesitate at every turn. Should she go to the fruit stand or the supermarket? A pause. A hesitation. She lived like a dot waiting for his finger to prod her along. But tonight was a turning point. Tonight she became the finger and the dot.

Loud banging interrupted her thoughts.
“Police! Open up!”
Tonight she became the finger and the dot.
“Police! Open the door or we’ll break it down!”
Tonight she became the finger and the dot.
She’d finally taken back her life. As she rose to her feet for the final time as a free woman, she had an ironic thought.
She’d only had to lose her life to get it back.