Charles twisted and tore a lame paper match from the limp ilk and scraped it against the abrasive strip on the back of the book. There had
not been many benefits to frequenting the D-list strip club by his job, but what they lacked in even the most basic aspects of sexuality, they made up for in free matches. His first few attempts
caused the length of the cardboard handle to bend around his thumb, forcing him to choke up on the match and press the phosphor tip down with his forefinger until it eventually struck,
burning his finger in the process. Calmly, Charles reminded himself of the point of the exercise and sucked his smelly finger while lighting a plain, white candle. The newness of the wick took it
a minute to light, but once it did, Charles tossed the match to the garage floor and set the candle down on an old, broken TV set. Like a cat prepping for a nap or a dog scouting for a suitable
place to shit, Charles did a few circles around the cushion on the ground before sitting down and crossing his legs, placing his hands on his knees and taking a deep breath in through his
nostrils. In the distance, he thought he heard a woman scream.
Exhaling through his mouth, he closed his eyes and pictured himself on a serene mountaintop, surrounded by beautiful women as natural and oblivious as frolicking fawn. He imagined he was part of his surroundings, observing but never disturbing the wildlife around him. A young brunette with modest tits rolls around playfully on a patch of green grass while a blonde fingers herself at the foot of a centuries-old oak tree. A mature woman with jet black hair stretches her arms towards the sun before inviting a set of Asian twins to go down on her. There is a gentle sound like flowing water and not a cesarean scar in sight. Charles continued his breathing exercise, feeling his blood calmly surging through his entire body. Beyond his garage door, the dickhead neighbor with the motorcycle went flying down the street, tearing his zen a new, decidedly less edible asshole. At this, Charles bid the women a premature adieu as he opened his eyes and focused on the stillness of the candle flame. He counted quietly to himself as he stared at the burning tip with the same intensity he was usually commended for in his marksman classes. He had managed nearly ten minutes during his last exercise. Ten solid minutes without a thought in his head. No deviations. No fears or anxieties. Just his eyes and mind focused on the roundness of the flame. The motorcycle had cut his warm up painfully short, however, and his mind wandered back to the woman with jet black hair to see if she had cum yet. She had.
“40 seconds”, he muttered. “That’s not going to cut it.”
Charles stood up slowly and did a few squats before extinguishing his candle and turning back to the garage door that led back into the house. He was sure he heard a woman scream this time.
“CHARLIE, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!”
Charles rushed into the house towards the direction of his screaming wife. As he turned the corner of his laundry room, he found Marilyn crouched on the kitchen counter. With a shallow pot in one hand and her high heel in the other, she shrunk into the impossibly small space between the cupboards and counter top.
“Don’t let him get past you!” she squealed, peering over the counter and extending the arm holding the high heel out to him. Charles stared at her from across the kitchen and wondered what she might look like at the foot of a centuries-old oak tree. Waving off her fashionable assault weapon, Charles kneeled down and scanned the hardwood floor for intruders. Stray grains of uncooked white rice and the occasional bottle cap were all Charles could see. He stood back up and put his hands on his hips.
“I don’t know what you thought you saw, but there’s nothing here now.” Charles said, giving the kitchen one more look before walking towards his tightly coiled wife. Without so much as a ‘thank you’ or grateful sigh of relief, Marilyn hopped off the counter and brushed past him, walking into the bathroom where she began the shower. Charles could feel his emotions playing Tetris in his throat. Against his better judgement, he walked into the bathroom and stood in the doorway as Marilyn shimmied out of her Tuesday panties. She had the ass of a teenager. And the temperament of one, too.
“It isn't polite to stare”, she said, coldly.
Charles leaned up against the doorway and smiled as his wife made annoyed attempts to cover herself. “If you feel like staring so badly, you could go back to the kitchen and wait on that goddamned spider…” she pulled the curtain back and tested the water with her hand, “I wouldn't even have to worry about any damn spiders if you’d spray once in a while, like I tell you to.” She was so beautiful to him, but Charles couldn't clear the block forming in his throat at this rate. “Of course, if you had just come when I called you the first time…” Charles shut his eyes and pushed the bathroom door against the wall, causing the spring on the bottom of the door to hit at a funny angle and fling back and forth, making an absurd BOY-YOI-YOI-YOING sound. Marilyn didn't acknowledge the noise. She stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed. There was an incredible tightness in Charles' chest. His mind felt submerged in panic and candle wax. He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him and walked out of the house onto the porch. Anxiously, he paced back and forth, trying to calm himself down while maintaining that he wasn't at all in the wrong.
He walked out to his driveway and sat in his truck.
Killing his neighbor seemed like the obvious answer.