(Page 1 of 5) Mr. Fox's Histeria by Amadeus MartinSUMMARY: The story of a mourning man, torturing himself over the death of his wife.Mr. Fox's Deliria
It's been a week since I lost my mind. It sits six feet under, next to Heather. I sat on a dark corner of the living room confronting my sanity. I was losing. My tear ducts overflowed and rained from my chin. I glanced at the red leather armchair in front of the cold fireplace, where a month ago Heather would be reading Jane Eyre. I would sneak secretly from behind, pull her dark hair behind her ear and whisper sweet words of passion to her. The fire would warm our adoring bodies as she would return my sweet words in a tender loving kiss to my lips. Then the phone rang. I stood up from the floor and made my way in the dark to the source. I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat before picking up the receiver.
"Hmm...Hello" I answered
"Hello, is that you Mr. Fox" It was the detective, I waited silently "Mr. Fox?"
"Oh yes it's me" I replied
"I would like to have a word with you..." he said, I maintained my silence. "Are you willing to come by my office again this Tuesday?"
I hesitated "hmm...I...can we do this some other time?" I replied
"Mr. Fox, you cant keep avoiding me, if you don't come to me I'll eventually have to go to you." The detective snapped back at me "I recommend that if you rather not get in more trouble that what you are in already you come to my office."
I looked out the window, the rain was pouring. A flash occurred of a thunderbolt in the distance. I walked to the window. "I understand" I said as another flash of light illuminated the room, I pulled the curtains down to cover the window.
"Be here at four o'clock" he said rudely before hanging up and leaving me alone once again. I hanged up the phone and placed it back, out of habit, on the wooden table were our old wired phone used to be. Then I heard the crash of the thunderbolts I saw seconds ago. "They must have stroke far away" I though to myself. I looked once again at Heather armchair and the copy of Jane Eyre resting on it, just like she left it.
Before turning in for the night I walked to the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of brandy from the already opened bottle on the table. I drank it fast before pouring myself another and throwing the empty bottle in the garbage. I checked that the backdoor was looked, then the front door and I returned to living room. I turned the lights on, it hurt my eyes. I stood in the doorway admiring once again at my Heather. "Good night". I called out to her. She continued reading. "Will you be needing the light honey" I asked, she nodded no. I flicked the switch off and headed up the wooden stairs and into the dark comfort of my room. I undress and I wrapped my self in the cold sheets. Then I waited for the creaking of the stairs, but I never heard them.
The Following day I went for a walk at the local park, like we did every Sunday. A habit I developed after marriage. This was the first time I had done it since she left, also the first time I did it alone. After twenty years of doing this I couldn't enjoy it, what once was green scenery of vivid green life now seemed gray and hopeless barren land.
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