Sadomasochists
They had been introduced at a New Year's Eve office party,
the kind all the lonely losers, with no friends and no family,
with nothing else better to do, always went to.
She took him back to her place to smoke a joint
and with the heady smoke easing their brains
and the golden bubbles of cheap champagne
floating in their blood, they fucked.
She woke up a year later, alone
and with a three-month-old son
who she named after his father
so she'd never forget her pain.
When her son got old enough
and she got mad enough
or depressed enough
or drunk enough
she would hit him,
and then hit him again when he cried about it.
She could see his father in his face.
It made her feel good to make him hurt.
And it broke her heart.
When he left for college,
he never came back home again
and she was alone.
She liked it that way,
she told herself.
"Fuck Him!"
she told herself.
She got older
and she replaced her blood
with bitter liquor
one night,
climbing the stairs
to her apartment
she slipped
and tumbled
down
in slow
motion.
as she fell
she smiled
and felt better
than she had
ever before.
the sound her head made when it connected with the concrete at the bottom
was like a gunshot,
and all her pain and loneliness spilled out of her
into a puddle on the ground.
The day her son heard about her death
was the happiest in his life.
And it broke his heart.
(c)opyright Matthew Williams
You can find more of Matt's work at http://www.editred.com/MattyQ