That Painting

I loathed that painting. It sat on the wall across from our bed. It stared at me all night. Watched me as I slept.

For years it hung there, my wife adamant that all this was in my head. She was steadfast in her belief that it looked good.

I knew better. I could see its eyes. Always looking at me. Those eyes. They assaulted me as I slept.

I know what you’re thinking-that I’m crazy. Well I’m not! That painting was of some woman. But she stared at me. I couldn’t take it! For five years she looked at me. Plotting.

So one night, while she slept, I doused her with gasoline. My wife burned well.
I tossed the painting on the flames, just to show her. She told me I could get rid of it...over her dead body.