Fiction Friday

Forgotten


He wanted her to take a sleeping pill. He said she needed rest, needed to relax. She knew what he meant by that. So she took it. She always did. She never wanted to, and told him that several times, but in the end she took it. If she didn't he would throw a tantrum, yelling and screaming at her. He would keep her up all night. So to shut him up, she took the pill.

She wouldn't remember much the day after taking one of those pills. They knocked her out. The next day she wouldn't even remember going to bed. All she could ever remember were a few flashes. Usually when something was painful. The pain seemed to clear her head temporarily. But the day after she wouldn't remember much.

When she woke up next to his bloody body, she called the police. Her sewing shears from the basket on her nightstand were sticking out of his chest. She told them she didn't remember how they got there. The police said he had been dead most of the night. She told them she didn't remember what happened. She told them about the pills. They tested her blood and found large amounts of the pills from the bottle on her nightstand. The police told her they believed her. It must have been some horrible drug induced accident.

She didn't tell them that the pills don't knock her as much as they used to.