By Nana Khadija Yahaya
Shobha stares out the window, waiting for him to come home. She knows he is angry just because she gave him the black shirt instead of the white one. He beats her up but sometimes he is sorry, he buys her flowers, even cries sometimes, then he tells her not to go out. He says that she should stay until the wounds heal, the neighbours are too nosy. She slumps on the couch sighing heavily as she realizes that it’s past midnight. Unconsciously, she falls asleep on the couch.
This time he isn’t beating her up. She looks around trying to leave this place but she realizes it’s closed. It takes her time to realize she is in a coffin. Last night, he had finally killed her, strangling her to death for talking to the milkman.
Shobha wakes up holding her chest as she sighs heavily realizing it was a dream. She holds her head as tears stream down her flushed cheeks.
“This has to stop today”, she whispers wiping the tears from her cheeks, she walks to the room turning her drawers upside down and then she finds it. When her father had given her a gun when he was retiring, she had thought it to be strange but now was the time to make good use of it.
The door flung open as her hulk of a husband stepped in, not even glancing at her but heading straight for the dining room. She waits for it, one, two, three“SHOBHA!” he shouts as he steps into the dining room this time a knife in his hand. She suddenly pulls out her gun and takes in the astonished look on his face. That memory will forever remain with her. Smiling, she pulled the trigger.