In a world where coming home an hour late is a sin greater than lust, Mr. Martin is one terrible sinner. The fact he's guilty of both sins mentioned above, not to mention a few others, only proves the fact that has been presented.
He's been married to Mrs. Martin for sixteen years and, out of all those wonderful years he never been known to come home precisely on time. But there was almost something ominous and awry about the fact that he came home tonight at the given time he did. Something in the air wreaked and only Mrs. Martin could smell it, kind of like a dog whistle that forgot which species it was made for and which sense it was made to appeal to.
In fact, part of what made his coming home this late so awry is the fact that he had been coming home this late for the past two weeks. To add to that, he's given his wife no proper explanation as to why.
He walked up the stairs to the room of him and his wife in a stealthy manner, though far from a quiet one. It was how he walked that made him seem so stealthy, not because he walked quietly.
If he were just walking quietly, it wouldn't be suspicious. If the fact that he was walking quietly was the only problem, his wife wouldn't mind. She'd by flattered by his selflessness in not trying to wake her up.He slowly opened the door, crept in, and closed the door slower than he had opened it. Mrs. Martin acted as if she was asleep when he walked in. She had her head turned away from him.
Mr. Martin sat up on the bed and began to remove his clothes, though he hated to do so in the presence of Mrs. Martin. He felt almost as if he was a knight in the middle ages removing his armor in the presence of a fire-breathing dragon. Come to think of it, Mr. and Mrs. Martin hadn't made love since what felt like the middle ages. The very thought of doing so ever again made Mr. Martin sick to his stomach. The first thing that came to mind where Mrs. Martin's saggy, prune-like breasts moving back and forth like pendulums on a grandfather clock as she swore to God and her biological father like a retarded seagull. Thankfully, he could masturbate to satisfy himself.
After he removed all of his clothing, he crept under the covers, though not near his wife.
At this point she thought to herself that their marriage didn't mean anything anymore. she decided it was time to stop showing such apathy towards her husband's life. She needed to know what was going on. She opened her eyes and turned her head to Mr. Martin's direction.
He was surprised to see that she was awake. "There's something we need to discuss", she said in an angry tone.
He looked at her as if he did nothing wrong, "And what is it you'd like to discuss?" said Mr. Martin. "You know damn well what I'd like to discuss!" snapped Mrs. Martin She sighed, looked down, and paused for a moment "Are you having an affair?"
Mr. Martin then sighed as well, he looked down with an unconvincingly glum facial expression. "Yes. I am."
- Title: Untitled.
- Artist: Orson Welles
- Description: It doesn't need one.
- Date: 07/28/2008
- Tags: affair