Weekly Drabble
Going Postal
The storm made him leave the hunting lodge a day earlier than he'd planned. Coming home at dawn, he opened the door quietly to avoid waking his wife, and saw her, her back to him, talking on the phone.
"... not slept all night, checked the tester now and I had to tell someone I'm pregnant!"
"You slut! I'm sterile!"
She turned, confused.
"Who did you get it from?" he shouted.
"The postman-"
The shotgun roared. A blue uniform outside. The postman. Another roar.
He saw the postwoman, dead. His wife, dead.
The box, its label reading "Acme Mail-order Insemination Kit."
Copyright 2006 Örjan Westin
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