Wood splintered, cushion stuffing scattered into the air and glided down aimlessly like parachuting soldiers, vases and glasses smashing into sharp, deadly pieces that littered the floor like landmines. I steadied my breathing, calming my nerves, easing my heart's adrenaline fueled thuds with slow, deliberate gulps of air.. I look down at my right hand, white knuckles around my mother's ashes, I unhinge them with his opposite brother and set mother onto the fireplace. Though she's long gone I can still feel her beady eyed stare at the back of my skull, as if to say, "Are you finished?" and yes mother, I am finished. I compose myself, wiping my shirt clean of broken glass, to which some stuck into my hand but I keep my cool, and lock eyes with the trigger of my temper. My wife, or soon to be ex-wife. All the love I had for her, it feels like someone has dropped a single drop of ink into water, and as time passes that ink begins to, fill, the rest of the water to match its colour. My love for her is no longer pure, and she... she was the one to drop the ink. "Why?" I voice crack so try again "Why.. What.." I trail off, I can't find the words.
