This is a variation on Slip Away, which I posted yesterday. What do you think?
By Laura McHale Holland
She saw the boat so still on the water, their eyes fixed on each other as their laughter rippled into the woods where she stood. She raised her rifle but couldn’t take aim. She didn’t know whether to shoot her boyfriend or the woman who’d stolen his heart. She lowered the weapon and walked away.
When he came home later, no yummy aromas were in the air. She’d promised him a hot meatloaf sandwich and German potato salad. Where was she? Her purse wasn’t on the couch where she always threw it. He dashed to the kitchen, called her name. Silence. Bare kitchen windows. No cat dishes on the floor. He raced through the house. Her pictures, gone. Her furniture, gone. Her toothbrush, clothes, books, plants—gone.
Everything she owned was gone. Except for the rifle. It was tucked under the covers on her side of his bed, barrel up, glowing in the last light of day.
The photo is by Kevin Marsh, http://www.flickr.com/photos/kevinmarsh/1801817287/