There's times a romance could use rekindling. In the Gutter, that fire may well become a pyre.
The Spot by Patrick Winters
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"Why
not here?" Helen asked (and
with a fair measure of irritation) as they stepped into a small clearing. She
repositioned the heart-shaped box of chocolates and the white roses bundled in
her arms, the ones Stephen had surprised her with in the truck.
"No,
but we're almost there . . ." he said, swinging their picnic basket ahead
to emphasize the point. He led her further into the woods, the ones he knew so
well and hunted in often. He'd found the perfect spot just for this day earlier
in the week, and he couldn't wait for Helen to see it.
His
wife fell behind as she struggled to keep up with her sure-footed husband.
Stephen thought he could hear her mumbling complaints under her breath. It was
a sound he'd grown accustomed to as of late.
He
knew that this day could settle things between them, if it went off as he'd
hoped. Their marriage had gotten a little rocky in the last few months, and on
some days—hell, most days—it had driven the both of them to their limits.
They'd never had the most idyllic of partnerships, but it was steady and
manageable. It wasn't until Stephen's extended work hours started that things
turned hostile, and things just snowballed from there. The arguments and the
berating came in rapid-fire; Stephen tried avoiding them, but Helen wasn't ever
too keen on letting her dissatisfactions go unheard. His occasional hunting
trips had become more commonplace after that. They were his way of trying to
just escape and ignore the troubles; of course, that'd only angered Helen more,
and her criticisms and complaints went up another notch.
He
eventually realized that he couldn't ignore the matter any longer; it needed to
be resolved—somehow, someway. As Valentine's Day came closer to rolling around,
his idea of a "romantic rendezvous" began to take form. He made his
plans, worked things out—and, of course, found that perfect spot.
He
picked up the pace a tad, just thinking about it.
They
kept on with their trek for another minute more. And then, there it was, right
before them. The spot.
"Here
it is!" Stephen said with pride and presentation. Still mumbling some,
Helen stepped up next to him to see for herself.
"Wha--?"
she started in confusion; but Stephen was already pushing her down into the
great big hole in the earth, gaping wide before them.
She
yelled, the shrill cry falling flat the moment she landed below. Her box of
chocolates flew across the dirt floor in a hail, and her roses crinkled and
snapped as she face-planted into them. If only he'd bought ones with thorns . .
.
Before
she had time to get up, the slumbering brown bear that was trapped with her
down there woke up. And it certainly wasn't happy.
Weighing
four hundred pounds, at the least, and having become quite ravenous with hunger
after its unknown time spent sequestered in the hole, the bear wasted no time
in unleashing a frenzied roar toward Helen. Before she could scream again, the
bear rushed her and fell upon her with its formidable paws and yearning teeth.
Feeling
pleased that he'd given his wife roses, chocolates, and now a great big teddy
bear, Stephen sat down. He opened the picnic basket and ate his lunch, watching
as the bear did the same.
