He could hear her crying through the bathroom door. The seething resentment burst into a full-bodied rage. The sounds of her mewling burrowed under his skin and enflamed every nerve ending.
“Shut up!” he screamed through the door. He hobbled through the house searching for something, anything to make her stop. His eyes fell on an old cricket bat. He returned to the door and smashed it against the door to punctuate his demand for her to stop.
If anything it made it worse.
In fury and desperation he unlocked the safe, loaded his gun and pointed it at the door. Very quietly he said, “Stop crying or I will make you stop.” She didn’t. He pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. Three times.
The crying stopped.
He breathed a sigh of relief.
Sometimes, in the quiet of his cell he wonders no-one else can understand, that if she’d just stopped weeping when he told her to, none of this would’ve happened.
He muses in the silence on just how unfair life can be.
Note: This is a fictional story based on the Oscar Pistorius trial.