Eye by David J Schow

Author:David J Schow [Schow, David J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Horror
Publisher: Crossroad Press
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Petition

Abel Swift bandaged up his hand as best he could, given that there were no dressings or hydrogen peroxide in the apartment. To buy that kind of stuff from a bodega he would have to hump down six floors of stairs, and Abel hated exerting himself to waste money. He mummied up his hand with one of his wife’s halter tops tied in a knot, which gifted him with a bonus twinge of revenge. It served her right.

He reminded himself to ask for more money. After careful consideration, Abel Swift adjudged that he had done no more wrong in his life than the average, basically good man. His flaws were forgivable; his transgressions, minor. He constantly strove to take stock of himself, subjecting his life to microscopic scrutiny, and this bargain-basement therapy spilled over into his prayers, every night.

“Oh Lord, I know you’re a kind and tolerant God, so I am hoping that you will understand about Lizbeth. I am not a violent man, Lord, you have seen that, because you see and know everything, but sometimes the Devil tries to get at me through that bottle, and sometimes I have what you’d call that moment of weakness, like I had tonight, and I swear to you that I never meant to hit her, not hard at least, and it was ole Satan himself who raised my hand in anger, because if it had been me I only woulda hit her once. Once is all Lizbeth ever needs. She’s slow, Lord, and I get frustrated when she can’t track what I am saying. Like how she lets them dishes pile up until they dry and get all crusty and it never occurs to her to scrape ’em or rinse ’em or anything; then she put ’em in the dishwasher and the hot water sort of vulcanized the food onto the plates, then later the chunks broke off and clogged up the dishwasher, and how now neither the dishwasher nor the disposal neither works, and after I came home she was whining about it, you know in that way she does, Lord, and then she can’t understand why I get mad, she just stares at me like some sort of befuddled animal, like she’s trying to smell what I want, and that makes her face get all squinty and puffy and, well, God, it just makes me want to never stop hitting it. Plus I told her to bring back an extra fifth of whiskey, you know, as a kind of backup, because I knew the cabinet was low, and she forgot, so in total I could not possibly have been drunk enough to actually abuse my wife, because thanks to her there was not enough liquor in the house to get drunk on, so I hope you can see your way clear to letting me slide on account of my hitting her just a little bit. Like she probably told you herself, Lord, I only hit her when she deserves it.

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