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Old 08-22-2012, 04:56 AM
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glyndwr99 (Offline)
I Am My Own Master
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She had married for money. Sought it out wherever it could be found. Designers, doctors, engineers: Ugly didn’t matter. Tired of her meager, frugal existence, she wanted things. Shiny things. Maybe a butler, maid, an ayah or two; people who could shine her fallal, her ego, her shattered perception of life.

He was a designer. Rich beyond belief, but as attractive as a bag of cattle feed. And, as expected, he fell for her charms, her looks. Not necessarily a bombshell herself, all she needed to do was perform certain deeds, moan a couple of times, and tell him he was the best. Her nidulating was perfect. They married and had children.

When the oldest boy started calling his dad by his first name and put her on ignore, she only shrugged. When he shattered a priceless apreggione over the head of his schoolmaster, she called the boy “spirited.” And when he avowed to renounce his earthly goods and join the priesthood, she finally sat up and took notice.

How dare he? How dare her only child forsake the glittery and the gold? Items were power, possessions were happiness, were they not? “He’ll never be happy,” she told her useless husband one day. “Never happy without his iPad, iPod, GameBoy, or GPS. Will he?”

Something snapped within the man she conned into marrying. He looked up, his weepy eyes and jagged nose discordant on his cattle-feed-shaped body. Pushing his glasses upon his nose, he cleared his throat. For the first time in a dozen years, the words that escaped his lips were his own. The silky, timid, beaten voice was gone. No longer would he cajole and cower in order that he obtain pleasures of the flesh. No longer.

“Yes, he will be happy. I don’t enjoy them anymore.”

She gasped.

“I don’t enjoy you anymore.”
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