This Wasn’t the Plan

By Tim Ritter

She came at me.  Sweaty, naked body, frothing at the mouth, eyes filled with fear and deadly anger.  I tried to wrap my hands around her throat but they kept sliding off her greasy skin.  I tried to hit her to make her stop.  But the urgency to fight wasn’t in me. Nothing physical was supposed to happen.  A glass of poisoned water with her nightly medication and then sleep.  I closed my eyes and laid limp under her struggling body. Finally she collapsed.  My hands kept slipping off her body as I rolled out from under her.