I’m going to destroy that treacherous cunt. Frank read the text message again and again... and again. There it was, screaming him from a round, little text bubble that glowed green as his face his glowed bright red from rage: “I want a divorce. I’ve been fucking Charles behind your back. Bye.” He was stuck at work for another thirty minutes and had no way of getting out early without risking his job. Job? What did that fucking matter now? His soul as he knew it was just wrenched from inside his now aching body and shoved in a meat grinder and spat out into mush. The pain in his gut was so intense that he felt like he was about to vomit nails. He dry-heaved a few times at his desk before collecting himself. Charles? Of all my friends she decides to dally with and adulter with CHARLES?! The guy was tolerable as a friend, but as much a righteous douchebag as you could find in this world. He was also disgustingly hairy and had love handles. Love handles, on a grown man. Oddly he wasn’t that overweight but somehow had love handles. That swarthy fuck had not only the gall but also the (frankly) unforeseen ability to seduce his lovely wife.

Lisa was a catch times fifty. A beautiful brunette with the body of a dancer (she was on her way to become a professional ballet dancer but was sidelined by a broken leg after being clipped by a car crossing the street) face as classically beautiful as an old-fashioned Hollywood starlet (he used to joke that they she was the Bacall to his Bogart) heart of gold, smart, great offbeat sense of humor like him, very similar tastes, and sweeter than saccharine. Phony as a sugar substitute too it seemed. And she was fooling around with his college buddy who ran a smoke and vape shop in Reseda. And his name: Charles. With a name like Charles you think he’d have an ounce of class. Should go by “Chuck” or “Chuckie.” Fucking asshat. After he confronted Lisa he would set his sights on Charles and call him “Chuck” when he did. He lost the privilege of being referred to as “Charles.”

No one noticed as Frank grabbed his coat and wallet and keys and scrambled out of his office ready to do battle with Lisa and Chuck and their ill-begotten and ill-fated romance behind his back. Why would Lisa do this? They had a rather idyllic marriage. His job at the law firm paid well and provided them with a good life (he had given up his prospective career as a writer to become a lawyer) and things were going swimmingly in the bedroom and out in their relationship–or so it seemed. They loved each other and deeply. When he had received the text message he didn’t quit believe if for about several minutes, in fact had thought he had imagined it. The only chink in their marital armor was the fact that he had to cancel their trip to Belize because of a case that was thrown in his lap, but she didn’t seem heartbroken. A little disappointed, but cause for unfaithfulness and having a dalliance with his dumb ass goat-fucking friend from English Composition class in his Sophomore year? It had to be something else. She had been acting funny, too, and he couldn’t figure out why. It was beyond the pale. Perhaps she just found him more attractive–hairy loved-handled Chuck. Frank couldn’t fathom why, he was still having to refuse occasional advances from baristas at Starbucks and even a young, voluptuous paralegal at the office (who was rumored to have starred in some porn flicks a few years prior). Whatever the case was, it had to be some weird sort of mental breakdown on the part of Lisa. She had in the past suffered from minor depression after her mother had passed away but a few milligrams of Lamita had done the trick. She had been off it for nearly a year. No… it had to be something else. And he had to find out why.

Frank rushed into his car and drove across down Ventura Boulevard from his office like it was the Audubon or some rural drag racing strip, running several red lights, narrowly skirting past pedestrians, and oncoming cars. He must have been going over sixty miles an hour the length of a few blocks. He didn’t know–and didn’t care. What he did know was that he was going to shake it out of Lisa why she had decided to tear his soul into microscopic shreds of pain and agony and then sprinkle them into a vat of sulfuric acid. He sped into his driveway hitting the garage door on his way in and denting the front of his midnight blue Tesla. He stalked up to the front door doing his best not to sprint and let Lisa know how intent he was on ripping her to pieces for this grave transgression.

He fumbled with his keys trying to open the door, but couldn’t seem to put the key in the lock without dropping it several times. He rang the doorbell impatiently but no one answered. He realized that her car wasn’t in the driveway. Chuckles the Hairy-Dicked Clown must be putting his slimy cock inside my wife as we speak. Losing all patience, he began to kick the door down. No luck, too thick. Just a few scuffs on the solid oak exterior.

“FUCK!” Frank picked up a brick from the entryway and smashed it, shattering the window in its entirety. He climbed through without regard cutting his hand on a few shards of glass. Now inside he ran upstairs to the safe in the closet. He spun the dial clockwise and counter clockwise until it clicked, the lock disengaging. Frank swung open the safe door and ripped his gun out of the back and loaded the bullets. One for her, one for Frank, and one for me. Two bullets in the clip, one in the chamber. Frank thought, as he chambered one of the rounds.

“Where is that fucking bitch?!” Frank heard someone pulling to the driveway. In the distance, he heard sirens heading his way. “Fuck!” Some dumbass nosy neighbor must have heard the commotion and called the police. He looked out the window to see Lisa and getting out of the car and walking up the entryway oblivious. He shouldn’t have parked in the driveway but had expected her to be here, not getting railed by Chuckers.

He ran downstairs to meet her at the front. As he ran down he realized he didn’t want to know. Whatever the reason it was irrelevant. She had destroyed ten years of marriage in a single text message, the damage had been done and he wanted her dead. DEAD without any time to consider her actions, and rotting in hell before she had a chance to explain to him her actions. Frankly he didn’t want to know. If he did it would make him feel responsible for whatever flaw if his had triggered her infidelity and he didn’t need a reason to make him besides he had to get out of there before the cops showed up and they took him away or Charles had any notice to hide or prepare himself for what was coming.

Frank stood there in the entryway with his pistol trained on the door, waiting for the knob to turn and Lisa to walk in. He could hear her on the phone with someone.

“I don’t know?! It’s smashed! Frank is at work–I texted him earlier but he hasn’t responded–Charles made me–no, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to upset him, even though Charles thought–”

That was enough. Enough. Frank swung open the door and yanked the trigger. Headshot. Bullet right through her forehead. Her deep blue eyes were wide with shock. She would never know what happened–it was over for her in seconds. His phone rang. It was Charles. That fuck. The fucking monumental gall of this prick. He probably wants to talk me down. Fuck it! I’ll tell him to get ready to fucking die!

Frank answered the phone. “CHUCKIE! I know you! You’re the shitbucket who’s been fucking my wife! She’s dead now and you’re going to be dead like her when I get to you!”

“Haha, got me, buddy! Red cocked!” He didn’t expect this reaction from Charles. He expected more contrition or even indignation from the man.

“You find that funny?! Lisa’s dead and you’re next you motherfucker!” Frank screamed.

“You got me! April Fool’s! Dammit Frank, you’re kind of freaking me out. Pretty convincing. Those acting classes back at Northridge paid off! Holy fuck, I’m shaking.”

Frank’s jaw dropped to his chest and he fell down to his knees.


“Hardy-har-har, you ass. I know you know it’s April 1st, Frank. And I know you I made Lisa send you that text–you’re too smart to fall for something that easy. One day I would get you back when you said that I had been caught plagiarizing that Western Civ’ paper. I re-wrote the entire fucking thing because of you! April Fool’s to you, you filthy prick! Haha. Tell Lisa, sorry, I’ll buy you guys dinner. This new lady I’m seeing wants to do a double date with you two. You’d like her, she’s a paralegal, and man the rack on this babe. I swear she’s at your firm even, I’ll have to ask. She was in porn I think, from what I heard through the grapevine. What is the name of your firm again? Frank… ?”

Frank stood there shaking and dropped the phone on the ground amidst the broken glass and growing puddle of blood that was Lisa’s. He could hear Charles calling his name as the blood creeped closer to the phone. He heard a police cruiser pull up, sirens screaming. He lifted the pistol to his face, placed in underneath his chin and pulled the trigger. It was over. The police arrived to find Frank’s lifeless body next to his wife’s in a strange, lifeless embrace.