The World's End Motel

In the beginning, things were great. Seemingly, it had been a match made in heaven. All the signs were that we had a bright enough future together. I can still recall our wedding day. The sky was an ebullient blue, phosphorescent clouds in the minority as the sun streamed down on the gathering entourage. We readied ourselves for our vows with the theme of the day being how well suited we were. Maybe even the stars had fated our partnership, what with Aquarius and Aries a completely compatible combination. It's hard to imagine how things could turn out so differently.

Fast forward to an obscure January night. Lying in bed, I can hear the faint scuffling of a sound downstairs. I know my wife woke up, gently shaking my arm, imploring me to investigate. Those next few seconds were almost as though underwater. I know I reached across for my gun, I know I got out and made for the door. The advantage lay with I as surely the intruder couldn't know I had a weapon, a deadly one at that. Any advantage I might have had disappeared all too quickly as the door burst open. I can remember the explosion and the blinding white light as I slumped to the floor. I glimpsed his face for a split second. It was enough to know.

So here I am now, sitting in this motel room, playing a waiting game. I seem to have all the time in the world. A cursory scan reveals an unremarkable room. What with two single beds, magnolia painted walls, a circular glass table with accompanying set of chairs and the customary television set in the corner, this could well be the World's End Motel. If I stare hard enough in the darkness, I can see faint flecks slowly floating to the floor. I look down to see the gleam of my silver gun. Flicking the barrel open reveals efficiently loaded chambers replete with bullets. I can sit and stare because I know that, ultimately, she will be contrite.

Of course, things weren't always like this. We were happy, initially until the first one came along. A stolen whisper, a misplaced answering machine message soon put me on to him. He was a swaggering six feet tall with a lady killing Mediterranean accent. This charming Italian could fool the ladies but not me. It didn't take me long to end the affair but I honestly wouldn't recommend drowning someone ' it's far too physical and messy, what with all that splashing and struggling. My wife never did find out. She just assumed that he'd wanted to end it so he disappeared, in all probability, into the arms of another woman. I mean, I couldn't tell her, could I?

In hindsight, maybe we should have talked it through. My reasoning for this is because a second came along ' Raymond or Raymondo as I liked to call him. I always thought hairdressers were effeminate but it seems that Raymondo swam against that particular tide (an unfortunate analogy as it turns out). It can be quite painful having to pull up a few doors away from your home suspecting that something is afoot, suspecting but not knowing. The bedroom light was on and I could see the silhouettes of two figures through the curtains, embracing. You'd have thought they'd have been more careful but with me supposedly away on business for a few days then maybe her guard had been allowed to slip.

As any reasonable husband would, I waited quietly until it was time for him to leave - good old Raymondo, the hairdresser that was screwing my wife. Eventually, he did leave following a gentle embrace on the doorstep. A gentle kiss signalled their farewells as they parted, Raymond skipping off merrily into the night. One of the advantages of the twilight hours is that so few people are about. Save for late night revellers and latter day vampires, generally the streets are empty. Rather neatly, I thought, I caught up with him and bundled him into an alleyway. Sliding the gun into his chest, he did look at me quizzically as I pulled the trigger. Needless to say, I couldn't leave him there. Whilst I'm sure I could have come up with some kind of alibi, I didn't want to leave things to chance so I humped him into the boot of the car. He went the same way as the first, weighed down and sunk in a remote river I knew from my childhood. I guess I've been watching too many gangster movies.

So the wheel turns full circle and I wait patiently. I'm not sure that listening to Bohemian Rhapsody was totally appropriate during that late night drive but then Queen can suit all occasions. I'm not sure how I know but I do know that my wife has another lover. For him to have the effrontery to shoot me in my own home is quite galling you know? I glance at my shoes and notice that they aren't as clean as usual. That's not like me at all. I pan across to the two red digits permeating the darkness and they obligingly state that it's 21:17.

I can hear a faint conversation growing steadily louder. Laughter resonates along the hall, a woman's voice tinkles on the air streams. I grip the steel of the gun, adrenaline pumping into my body. I'd know my wife's voice anywhere whilst it's no surprise that she's with a man. Tonight, thy name is retribution. The door opens, the couple enter falling, laughing onto the beds. My wife arches back and looks directly into my eyes. She looks so happy. I raise my gun and point it at her head. I've waited a long time for this. Maybe I should have done this before.

Suddenly, I'm no longer there. I look up to see a circular array of lights that make me squint. I can smell the antiseptic whilst two figures are blurry, just outside my eyeline. I can tell it's a man and a woman. "He never stood a chance the male states. "They say it was a burglary that ended in tragedy comes the reply. The ethereal figures sound resigned as I see an arm raised in the vague shape of someone looking at their watch. "Time of death ' 2.18.

I'm back in the motel room again, giggling vibrating in my ears. The lovers are under the sheets now, ignoring the form in the chair. I point the gun at the shapes, determined to squeeze the trigger and so end this hell. The chamber clicks but nothing happens. They simply carry on oblivious to my presence...and then I remember that I've seen this a hundred times. It's always the same, they open the door, fall onto the bed laughing and make love. I never did believe in God so perhaps this is my purgatory or maybe my hell, after all.