Writing for Fun
Something's Wrong - Maureen Rampersaud
July 2014
Pam sensed that something was wrong even before she reached the house. The car windows were fully open, the heat was oppressive, the clouds brooded and rumbled overhead. She usually visited her parents on a Friday, even Good Friday, she never missed. She slowed down as the lane narrowed towards the farm. Since her mother was diagnosed with M.S., her dad had neglected the place; not surprising really.
It was the silence that troubled her, not a bird was singing, no distant mooing of cows. Perhaps it was the storm that was brewing, all held their breath in anticipation. She turned into the farmyard, so different from when she was a child. It had been the centre of activity, excitement and optimism.
Pam fumbled for her key as she approached the door. She looked up and stopped in her tracks. She read the huge notice:
She was stunned and her imagination ran wild. Pam wasn't even tempted to go in, her dad didn't do things without a good reason.
She sat in the car as the police did their job. Her teeth chattered and she couldn't stop shaking. She knew it was bad. Later she learned the facts. Her mother had been shot in the head and her father's body was found in the pond. It was concluded that her father had shot her mother and then drowned himself. The trouble was, Pam would never know what had triggered this out of character behaviour of her father's. What had changed since her last visit? Could she have done anything?
It was Good Friday, Stuart remembered as he studied the sky, just as he always did at daybreak.
'Looks ominous', he thought.
He had done his best to help Linda wash and dress, but it was harder every day as her faculties left her. They had been married forty-eight years, and he loved her as much now or even more than when she'd walked down the aisle towards him all those years ago. His heart lurched with love as he remembered her golden hair entwined with flowers.
Over the last months he had noticed a change in himself. He had become absent-minded and forgetful. He left food on the stove to burn, he couldn't remember if he'd fed the animals and, worst of all, he'd found that Linda had dragged herself towards the kitchen desperate for water. He didn't need a doctor to tell him what was wrong, he had watched his father disappear from them all, agonizingly slowly.
Linda didn't talk much anymore, she just made sounds, but during breakfast, as he fed her, she stopped, gazed at him and really saw him this time,
'I love you,' she said, as clearly as she did on their wedding day. She looked happy for one glorious moment, before withdrawing again, looking out of the window at the trees, bowing and writhing painfully in the wind.
Stuart took out his gun.