“Surprise”


“Surprise”


They waited for me inside the office, but I came prepared.

Did they think me stupid? All week, their conversations dwindled when I approached. Their eyes lingered before darting away.

“You’re paranoid,” my wife said. Could she be involved? I stared at the bedroom ceiling until dawn painted it grey.

Then I overheard hushed voices while hiding in the toilets: “We’ll get him tomorrow.”

I stepped through the doors and into their ambush. Whipping out the gun, I fired with frantic abandon.

“Surprise,” my wife said, slumping to the floor.

The birthday cake slid from her lifeless hands.


Christopher Mattravers-Taylor 

Author bio: favourite hot sauce: Encona. 




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