Basil And Beryl (Dark Humour)
I’m sat here with a snide smile on my face. I’m making a cardigan for the new grand-baby. My knitting needles are clacking away and I can tell by the face you’re pulling, that it’s getting right on your nerves. Good. That’s why I’m clicking them louder than necessary.
I slip the wool over my finger and hook it round the needle, sliding the completed stitch over and moving on to the next.
Click clack, clickety fucking clack!
You’re cheek muscles are twitching where you’re gritting your teeth. Frustrating isn’t it, listening to my needles? Now you know how I feel listening to the way you rasp your damn feet against one another when you’re engrossed in the television. Reminds me of sandpaper against a wall.
I lessen the clicking noise to gauge your reaction. Your face visibly softens and those muscles stop contracting. I place my knitting down in my basket and get out of my chair.
“D’ya want a sandwich, Basil?”
Your rheumy eyes look at me. It makes me shudder.
Yeah, Beryl? What happened to Ooh, yes please, Sweetheart. So long as it’s no trouble, Darling? Hmmm? What the fuck happened to those nice endearments, Basil? They upped and left as soon as your dick got permanently limp, that’s for sure.
I’m going to slap this butter on so damn thick it’ll go straight to your arteries. Shit, this cheese grater’s sharp. Nigh on sliced my damn finger ends off there. Yeah, I can hear your damn feet rasping. Thought you’d get a quick toe rub in while you thought I couldn’t hear you, didn’t you?
I know you’ve stopped doing it, but I bet you’re itching to start it again, aren’t you? Rolling your eyes at me too, I bet. Expect your mouth is making goldfish movements as you mimic what I just said. Like a little kid you are. Regressing into childhood as the years fly by.
“Here.” Go on, take the sandwich without a thank you, you ungrateful bastard.
Oh, so you decided you’d better be grateful, huh? Good for you cos I’m just about ready to bust your ass right now.
My slippers are getting old. They look tatty and worn. That’s another thing that gets up your nose, I know. The fact that I slip-slap around in my slippers. Can’t you pick up your damn feet when you walk, woman?
Ah, fuck off!
Shame we’re too old for this divorce business. Shame too that I didn’t walk out years ago. Whoever said familiarity breeds contempt was damn right! I’m so familiar with you that my contempt shot off the hate scale years ago. Dumb asshole!
Yeah, I’m pouring this drink out to annoy you. Raising the bottle of tonic water up high, so it sploshes in my glass and sounds like you do when you take your morning piss. Ugh! You really do revolt me.
Click clack, clickety clack.
I’m just about finishing this row of stitches. You’re just about finishing your sandwich.
“Damn, woman! Can’t you just quit with the knitting now?”
Your red face turns to me. You’re only a couple of feet away. So close.
Uh-oh, you’re really angry that I did that, aren’t you? Aren’t you just wanting to rip my head off? But you can’t cos the pain is so bad from that there knitting needle sticking out of your ear. Shit me, I don’t know why I did that!
You’re making quite some noise there, buddy. Yeah, I guess it is really painful. Lordy lordy! I really shouldn’t have done that, I guess. There sure is a lot of blood, it’s coming out of your nose too.
“I’ll be off to bed now, Basil.”
You’re not happy, I can tell. Still, it’ll give you something to moan about won’t it? An excuse to ignore me. Married life. It stinks!
“Nite nite, Basil!”
You look at me with hate, but you’ve not got the balls to retaliate.
Bio: M.E. Ellis has been published in several ezines online, the author has written five complete novels and two that need tinkering. Over 150 short stories written to date, including horror, children's, non-fiction, dark/humour and fiction. Married with five children, she resides in Oxfordshire.