The perfectionist

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“My wife is dead”

“Okay… Please tell me more. Did you check her pulse?”

“I did. She’s been dead for a while now”

“Don’t worry sir, we’re sending help right away. Can you tell me how it happened?”

“She was in the kitchen, doing the dishes I suppose. I don’t remember the details”

“No worries. Tell me what you remember.”

“I had just come home. She was in the kitchen, I called her out. As she came out of there, I smashed her head right on the table. She was so weak! Died in the second blow…”

“And why did you do that?”

“She had been cheating on me for some time now. I just couldn’t take it anymore”

“Fair enough. Now why don’t you bury her, before the police reaches your home?”

That was it, he put the phone down. “No way a 911 call would go that way!”, he thought.

He let the body lay there… It’s been seven days, but he’ll practice the call again tomorrow. The murder may have been impulsive, imperfect, but he couldn’t risk not planning a perfect confession.

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