The Other Woman
This is the result of an August 2001 writing exercise/challenge posed by a friend.
Writing Exercise: "Possession" -- Think of a life-changing event, then write about it from the point-of-view of something you own.
He used to be mine, this perfect family man. Quiet and faultlessly faithful, or at least that's what the world thought. Very few knew how he'd sneak away late at night, after his wife and child had fallen asleep, and greedily spend hours with me. Although he'll never admit it, I knew he enjoyed using me -- chatting, whispering his fingers all over me, his eyes staring, ogling, dreaming designs only the gods were privy to.
But then his child got sick. She was an adorable toddler of a girl whose womanly instincts chained him to her hospital bed. And so I lost him. Forever, I thought, but his child recovered in a week and he once again came to see me.
With his wife.
I should've zapped him then, but I had to entertain his wife and listen to her conversation. It was, afterall, the polite thing to do.
Mercifully, she left the country on a business trip, and he had me every night until dawn. I hummed and purred at his every touch, his moist and frantic fingertips massaging poetry into my being. It was bliss. Unending. Complete.
But one time, as he tiptoed back into his room, he saw his daughter.
Wide-awake at 2am.
Hi, honey. Been awake long?
And as he brushed the salt ghosts from the sides of her defiant eyes, he finally felt what my nightly company had failed to shield him from. Not fidelity. Not marital harmony. Not human companionship. But guilt, syrupy and bright red.
And I haven't seen him since.
He used to be mine, this perfect ingrate of a man. Silent and reliable, or at least that's what he thought of me. But I shall have my revenge. For tonight at 9:00, as he sidles up to his wife and cuddles his child, I'll crash...
...my hard disk.
copyright © 2001 by Manuel Viloria. All Rights Reserved.
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