The Perfect Wife(Sadie) My name is Harry. My wife’s name is Jude. We’ve had some rough patches this past couple of months but I think now that it’s February we’ve managed to work everything out. We’re done fighting. She’s done yelling and I’m done hating every word that comes out of her mouth.

I came home drunk one night and she lost it. She went berserk but it wasn’t my fault. None of it was. She was the one overreacting. She was the one that made me hit her. I thought I didn’t want to but her words had shown me how nice it would be to just hit her, square in the mouth, make it finally stop calling me a worthless drunk. It was just a few drinks. Maybe seven or eight. But that’s not what matters. What matters is that everything was her fault in this.

“You can’t keep doing this! You’re tearing us apart with this drinking a-and gambling and coming home so la-” Jude got cut off by the raising of my hand. Then the bitch tried to open her mouth to keep yelling, to keep blaming me for nothing. She didn’t get the first syllable out by the time that my hand connected with her jaw. And again, and again, and again. By the time I was done her lips were bleeding and there were already signs of bruising around her face. It made me so happy to see that. To see that she had paid for her words. But of course, I couldn’t say that. I had to make her stay.

“I’m so sorry, so, so sorry Jude. I didn’t mean to do that. Please forgive me.” I pleaded with thoughts of future shocked faces with bruise embellishments. Jude just kind of stared at me. No, that’s not right. She stared through me. It was a very blank stare. There wasn’t even tears. The only emotions I saw were pure shock and anger. Suddenly her eyes shifted back at me. She jumped and tried to tackle me. She was spitting curses and throwing her balled fist at me.

“You can’t hit me, you son-of-a-bitch! I’ll make sure you go to jail! I’ll even be sure to make you burn in Hell!”, She screamed. I had never seen her like this. Like she could talk to me like this. I am the man here. Where does Jude get off on talking to me like a dog. It was all her fault.
To my right was the kitchen table. I grabbed a pen off the table and stabbed it into her neck. She struggled but not for long. The blood came too quick for her to do anything to stop it. She let out a scream before she died, no more than a small yelp, much like that a dog would make when being struck, but I was sure our upstairs neighbors heard it. If they can hear the toilet flushing or the razor running, then they would hear that.

I heard footsteps above me, a phone click off the receiver and nervous, frantic mumbling. It was obviously 911 on the other end.
I had time. I took Jude's lifeless body, with slightly congealed blood covering about half her torso. I had time. I ran to the bedroom and removed all her clothes; they would merely get in the way. I had time. Running to the kitchen I seized the largest knife we had, a 4 inch across butcher knife. I had time. Reaching our room again I quickly went to work hacking away at her. First came her limbs, her arms, her legs, her head. I had time. After that I sliced open her stomach. Out of it spilled her intestines, splashing down on the blanket with blood droplets coming up and hitting me on my face and arms. I had time. I chopped up her face. I didn't want to see that anymore. That constantly judging face now no more than a heap of bloody meat. I had time. I started hacking at her arms, her legs, chopping her torso into thin strips. There was a knock on the door. I had time. I didn't rise to get it. A louder, stronger knock came. I picked up Jude's organs. The sharp knife slipped through them like butter. I had time. The next thing I heard was the door breaking off its hinges. I had time.

"I have time. It was all her fault. I have time. It was all her fault...," I was mumbling when the police came in my bedroom. I could feel them behind me, just staring at my work. Yes, that's what I will call it. She is now my work of art. She not yelling at me anymore or blaming me. She's perfect now. Soon this murder will become a mystery even to me. I have time.

That’s when I woke up. With blood on my hands.

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