The Crumbled House

Frank Stund had always hated old Red Junction with its dead grass and empty hills. It was a place where he felt depressed. There were no trees in sight and there was nowhere to go. Red Junction was a trailer park, most neighbors were shouting at each other from dawn till dusk and empty beer cans and liquor bottles decorated the unfenced lawns, children ran around in hand-me-downs and thrift store clothing. Once it was night the streets were dead except for the yelling in the distance and the bark of a rottweiler and pitbull dogs.

He was a cold, reserved, rum drinker with sickly arms and thin legs. His friends saw him as a breakable, broad beast. Once, he had even made a cup of tea for a petite kitten. That's the sort of man he was.

Frank walked over to the window and reflected on his urban surroundings. The drizzle rained like a painter wanting to step down from a ladder.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Gretta Stund. Gretta was an angry monster with round arms and fat legs. She wore clothing that was not fit for a woman of her size, her stomach spilled out from under her short shirt and tight leggings. Her hair was greasy and pulled back into a ponytail.

Frank gulped. He was not prepared for Gretta.

As Frank stepped outside and Gretta came closer, he could see the unrealistic glint in her eye. Frank was holding a bottle of rum in his hand when she approached.

Gretta glared with all the wrath of a large lion. “Are you still drinking?” she accused. Frank looked down at his half-empty bottle and let out a loud belch from his chest. She came closer to him as if wanting to kiss her husband, but instead she leaned in and she said, in hushed tones, "I hate you and I want equality."

Frank looked back, even more lonely and still fingering the crumpled house. "Gretta, I have never been enough for you," he replied.

“You never even got a job, you dirty slob,” she criticized. Frank looked down at himself, she was right his wife beater was no longer white, it was stained with who knows what, his jeans were poor quality and had rips down the pant leg.

They looked at each other with unhappy feelings, like two tender, tame turtles drinking at a very cowardly birthday, which had rap music playing in the background and two vile uncles talking to the beat.

Frank studied Gretta's round arms and fat legs. Eventually, he took a deep breath. She used to be so thin and beautiful, she had gained weight since their marriage twenty five years ago.

"I'm sorry," began Frank in apologetic tones, "but I don't feel the same way, and I never will. I just don't hate you Gretta."

Gretta looked unstable, her emotions raw, she teased back the tears. All they ever did now was fight, how could he not hate her, she had gained weight, she could barely move and walk. Her hair was thinned and so was his, his beard was unkempt and graying, his breath constantly smelling like alcohol and tobacco. Frank suddenly swung at her and she stopped the blow with her arm.

“Don’t defy me woman!” he bellowed and he slapped her hard against the face. She mumbled a curse word at him and pushed past him and went into their trailer. She shoved clothing into her bag.

‘What do you think you are doing? You ungrateful woman!” he shouted and he stumbled his way into their bedroom. “You are leaving me!” he asked, astonished.

“Of course, you bickering jerk!” she shouted back.

“No babe stay with me,” he pleaded. She shoved him out of her way, he stumbled backwards and into the wall. She moved as fast as her large body could carry her and she took the keys to the truck and drove off. Frank got up from the floor and he cursed after her even though the truck was already gone.

Not even a drink of rum would calm Frank's nerves tonight. The bottle was now empty and he threw it aside with all the other empty bottles.

THE END