by Virginia Winters
I resent the single-mindedness that took me to downtown Manhattan yesterday. I rarely ventured that close to the seats of the powerful, but my need to see him was stronger than my reason. He held the key to the patrimony that would end the ignoble poverty to which fate and circumstances that I had not been able to transcend and which had proved so damaging to my soul had condemned me. Retaining nothing of the kindliness and charity that I believe I should have inherited from my mother, I joined my father’s rapacious nature to my own deep-seated anger. I went to Manhattan to meet my used-to-be lover, my spouse, my banker, who, if I asked nicely would take me back, free me to live again that life of ease and privilege to which he had introduced me. My intentions were good, but I went to Manhattan yesterday, and I shot him.
Virginia Winters lives in Lindsay, Ontario Canada. She is an active member of the Internet Writers Workshop. Several of her stories have been published online; one in Confabulation2, an anthology published by Wynterblue Publishing. She blogs about writing and other interests here.