Dead Girls and Dead Things by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-10T22:00:00+00:00

Next day, Ed decided to act like nothing had happened. He still treated her like she was screwy for sleeping on the couch, but that was a hell of a lot better than another fight, so Opal accepted the lack of closure as par for the course and moved on with her life. It was a shitty life, but it was hers, and she supposed that had to count for something. Yes: even if it seemed like endless work—thankless work for somebody who rarely said “thank you” and who apologized for his own faults even less—wasn’t that just the way the Good Lord wanted it after all the fuckups in Eden? “By the sweat of thy brow,” etcetera, etcetera?

Okay… maybe that wasn’t how He wanted it—maybe it was just how mankind had decided it would be by their own mistakes—but then, why should Opal have to suffer for that bad noise? Didn’t that same damn book say someplace else that the sins of the fathers shall not be visited upon the sons? There was a dusty old copy somewhere in the farmhouse… she’d have to pull it off the shelf and peruse its pages when she was done chopping wood that morning.

Felling trees and hacking up logs to pull back home on their little toboggan seemed like a man’s job to her, not to be sexist. But considering that her man was a bit fuckin’ obsessive when it came to control of their ammunition, Opal couldn’t help but think that it would have been real noble of him to take the firewood matter into his own hands. Hell, even just bringing a few logs back would suffice; Opal wouldn’t have a problem chopping it into smaller pieces herself, if they were near the house. That was how she did it anyway, generally speaking. After all, every second she was out in the open was a second she was at risk. Every snap of a twig was a shuffler waiting to spring out of the underbrush—and it was harder to hear than might have been desirable with all the thudding metal and splintering wood.

Then there were the problems with the ax itself. She’d begged Ed for weeks to trade for a new one just as soon as he could. It still worked okay, but the problem was, about every fifteen chops or so, the head would pop off the handle and wind up stuck in the wood. Worse, when it got lodged in there good and deep and it was still on the handle, she’d have to apply the pressure of her boot against the log to keep get the ax head loose… and most of the time, the momentum caused the damn thing to go flying off into the bushes, which meant she had to find it.

Like today.

Cursing up and down, Opal stormed back to roughly where she’d thought she’d heard the rustle of its landing and began the obnoxious task of sorting through the prickly brambles of blackberries (out of season, unfortunately) to find the errant ax head.

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