Short Fiction: Last Call

Repko’s wife drained her wine glass and gestured to him for a refill.

Take it easy tonight.

Fill. It’s the only thing that dulls my pain.

What pain is that?

Being married to you, for one thing.

Really?

It’s not what I dreamed about when I was a little girl.

You think you’re a picnic?

Fill.

I wanted better for myself, too, you know? I had dreams, aspirations even.

The only dreams you ever had were wet ones. Fill ‘er up.

You’re a mean drunk, Valerie. You used to be a kind person, but now you’re just mean. What happened?

What happened? Shit happened, that’s what. You happened. My crummy job happened. More shit happened. Shit, shit and more shit. It’s all shit, a great big stinking hill of shit.

You’re very negative, Valerie.

Well, I have reason to be.

Your aura is cloudy.

What do you know about auras?

I know more than you give me credit for. Believe it or not, I’m connected to my spiritual dimension and I know a cloudy aura when I see one. Yours is cloudy, like there’s a dust storm swirling around it.

You’re full of shit. Shit’s coming out of your ears. I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in my life. Fill!

Repko started to uncork the bottle but then thought better of it and smashed it down on Valerie’s head, something he had fantasized about doing for years. The sensation that ran up his arm was even more satisfying than he had imagined. Surprisingly, the bottle didn’t shatter. Valerie fell backwards. Her eyes rolled up in her head and her mouth opened as if she had one final thing to say, but nothing came out except a grunt. Rivulets of blood rolled down her face.

Repko uncorked the bottle, filled Valerie’s glass, and offered a silent toast to his now dead wife.