A man was sitting at the kitchen table, while his wife was cooking lunch. She was wearing a plain white long dress with no sleeves. The smell of fried chicken filled the kitchen air. The man's hands were shaking, and the bags under his eyes were clearly visible. His breathing was heavy and erratic, as if he desperately needed oxygen.
"I can't take it anymore!" he said while pulling his hair. "I'm tired of this stupid anxiety! Make it go away!" He made sure his wife wasn't looking. She was busy cooking and not paying attention. He quickly searched the inside of his trench coat. He pulled out a pistol and set it on the table. "Oh I don't know if I should. I can't leave my wife alone..." He sighed as he put his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand.
"Do what, Honey?" asked his wife.
He quickly lifted his head at the sound of her voice. "Did I say that one out loud?"
"You don't need to answerit was an obvious question. I know what you're trying to do." His wife kept on cooking, and her voice was calm.
"You're trying to put an end to your misery. But you don't need to shoot yourself! There are other ways to end your anxiety problem, you know."
"Wait, how did you kno-"
"You carelessly left your coat on the bed when you were taking a shower. I saw the gun in there. You should really be aware of what you are doing, if you're going to hide something from me."
"Yeah, you're right. I don't know what I was thinking! I just want to get rid of this problem right now. I'm sick and tired of not getting enough sleep at night. I only get about two hours, if i'm even lucky! I'm sick of having trouble breathing. It feels like i'm having a heart attack! I'm sick of it!" He repeatedly slammed his fists on the table.
His wife remained calm, not reacting to his outrageous behavior. "Do you trust me?" she asked abruptly.
The man stopped slamming the table, and tried to control his breathing. Once he managed to control it, he turned to face his wife. "That came out of nowhere. Why do you ask?"
"Well... you see.... I took out the bullets from your gun."
"Oh, lemme check then."
"That's not necessary, don't you think? This is a test to see if you trust me or not." His wife put her hands around her waist and she stomped her left foot on the floor. "Well what are you waiting for? Put the gun to the side of your head, and pull the trigger!"
The man almost fell out of his chair. He stared at his wife, perplexed. "Huh?"
"If you trust me, then you'll do it, right?"
The man stared at the gun. He reached for it, but then he quickly hesitated.
His wife laughed, surprised. "I can't believe this! We've been married for eight years, and you don't think you can trust me with this? Tell me one time where I haven't been trustworthy."
"I... I can't. I mean, I never found you cheating on me with another man. And... you've never lied to me. When you said you wouldn't be the type of wife to ask for things to buy, you kept your promise. I feel that your love for me is genuine. Yeah, how crazy! Why would you ever try to have me killed?" He put the gun to the side of his head, but then, he pointed the gun to his chest, where his heart was. "You know what? I'm going to pull the trigger here, to show that my love for you can't be ruined." The man pulled the trigger, but his ears rung after the sound of a gunshot. He knocked over the chair and then he fell to the ground.
His vision was fading, and his wife disappeared before his eyes. The smell of the chicken escaped from his nostrils. "W-What's going on?" he said with a faint voice. He put his hand on the gunshot wound and he clenched it. He grimacedthe excruciating pain was something that he never felt before in his life. It felt like thousands of needles piercing through his heart.
The last thing he saw was his wife, but she wasn't wearing a white dress. She was wearing a pink t-shirt and skinny jeans. And she wasn't in the kitchen; she was in the living room, running towards him. She screamed when she saw blood pouring out of his mouth.