A woman finds out about her husband cheating on her and turns into something dangerous and is gone, forever. 


Shattered glass under her feet, she looked up into the mirror. It, being broken into smithereens.

Blood dripping from her wrist, into the basin and onto the floor.

A maniacal smile, on her face. She walked to the window and strained her eyes to get a view of their room. There he was, on the bed. There he was with another woman.

There he was with his hands on her body and hers on his. There he was with his lips pressing hard and passionately on hers. Where had all the magic that was between them gone that he had come down to cheat on her with someone else? There he was on their bed with some other woman and here she was, looking at him with a smile as wide as a hanger.

She kept walking up and down, blood dripping on the carpet and staining it. Even with all of this hate and anger boiling in her, she couldn’t help but think about how she would have to wash the carpet. Had this been the reason for him to go astray? Something in her died, that instant.

A flame, a burning flame had extinguished. Her vision started to blur with the tears flooding her eyes and all she could think of was how it had all come to this.

Walking up and down, she lifted her arm to push away the hair from her face and smiled from one ear to the other looking at her wrist.

She looked out the window again, into the room and looked away. How could she look at him cheating on her with her own eyes? They had been right about him. He wasn’t the saint, he was the sinner.

Out of the seven sins, three were already on her mind. Lust, as in the desire to get back her husband. Wrath, as in to end her mistress’s life. Envy, as in of what she had lost and the other woman gained.  

She shut her eyes and then looked at the rug.

She lifted the rug and walked over to the washing machine and switched it on. Then, brought a mop and started cleaning the floor till it was as white as it could be. She was a control freak.

She had a psychological disorder of having hallucinations and created illusions of people like she wanted them to be and he was doing what? Taking advantage of this situation? Where had all the love gone away? Such deep love? She looked at the cut across her wrist and smiled. Why? It didn’t hurt even to a slightest.  

She wondered if the medicines had turned her body so immune that she didn’t feel pain anymore? What about the heart ache then?

There wasn’t any pain, just an empty feeling, a feeling which was in between hatred and jealousy. She pulled a chair across to the window and sat there, looking at them. With more and more time passing by, the wrath in her eyes started turning into something very dangerous. There was fire in her eyes and as she looked at them getting more and more intimate, her body started turning red and burning hot.

She looked down at her feet and her toe nails were on fire and then the ankles and then it started creeping up all through her entire body. Her body was on fire and she looked at her hand and the cut had almost disappeared. What was happening? Why didn’t it hurt?

She was flustered and started towards the bathroom, but the fire seemed to be amaranthine. She had been an amorous lover and all of it had come down to this? She looked at the smithereens of the mirror on the floor and saw herself turn into a monster, or was it something else? All of a sudden, she started a psittacism so loud, it could have shattered millions of glasses. Her body burnt as bright as a neon railway sign. Her body didn’t ache or burn but itched, her back, mainly.

The room, tenebrous and soulless only with a burning body moving about in the room, to the window and her eyes, burning flares. She looked out the window, at her husband and got even more infuriated. Her skin started to wither and turn to dust. And as the sun came up in the city of Rome, her body turned to ashes and she was gone through the window, with the wind.

She was gone forever and there were no remains found of her. The next day, the rug was found in the machine with the stains that never left.