Never Too Late

It’s that situation that I am deeply reluctant to call a cliche. The beautiful Marissa, innocent and pure enough, makes a foolish decision. She marries a demon in disguise. Geoff, the sweet man that complimented her everyday, that never made her feel like she wasn’t enough, slowly unraveled into a raging, starving beast that was satiated on the bruises, scratches, and mental insecurities that he cultivated in the woman he declared love for. Geoff and Marissa had one daughter and one son, who grew up with their eyes to the ground, for to look up would be to acknowledge the injustices they could do nothing to stop, and this is one of the most painful things a person, especially a child, can do.



Years later, paramedics wheeled Marissa’s dangerously weak 50 year old body into the county hospital. She had taken one of her reckless treks down the stairs again and his time it seemed the damage was there to stay. Trauma to her brain took away most of her freedoms. She could no longer move her legs effectively, and was confined to a wheelchair. Her short term memory was harmed, and she now spoke broken sentences, as if in such permanent pain that talking was slowly killing her. She was confined to her house to the care of her loving husband and nurses sent to their home. Her children helped when they could.



A few weeks after, Marissa reached her hand out to a nurse, as if on her deathbed, reciting her final wish.



“He hurt me.” She said shaking.



.The nurse, expecting a request for a trip to the bathroom or something to eat, snapped into focus. “Who? Who hurt you?”



“He hurt me.” Marissa repeated,with no emotion in her voice.



The nurse glanced at Geoff, who was cleaning one of his guns, then she left Marissa, not sure what to do. Nobody would help her, Marissa knew.



The cops arrived at Marrissa’s house seconds before her children. It was close to 11 o’clock now, 30 minutes after the neighbors heard a gunshot coming from the house.



“Happens all the time,” One burly, bearded officer said. “The man was probably tired and couldn’t sleep, so as he was cleaning his gun his hand slipped and, well, you know.”



The house was blocked and Geoff was wheeled out, almost like Marissa, weeks before, except he was in a container, the demon sealed and never to be seen again. Marissa watched this outside her home, in her chair. Her children were trying to quiet her, but were not doing a good job. They were lucky no one heard her quiet gasps of “I did it, I did it. Finally, I did it.”