COCONUT MILK [short story]

 

„Here, my dear, have some coconut milk.“ That was the last thing I’ve ever heard. Clenching a cup of tea in my hand hard, staring at the liquid inside. I should have known. Noone puts coconut milk in their tea, no matter how vegan they are. Yet, I was sitting there, speechless staring at the pot of flowers I gave to my wife just the day before yesterday. Did she not love them? The beautiful foliage, the blossoms bursting in the colours as violet and blue as the bruises I often left on her body. An image of her appeared in my head. A woman of beauty and elegance, so calm, so obedient. My eyes blinked. She stood there. Tall and strong, a bottle with white fluid inside. The coconut milk. I could feel it in my veins. Running through my body, back and forth, before reaching my heart and stopping it forever. My stomach burning in pain, as if there were dozens of needles piercing thorugh it. But it was not the milk. It was the small bottle in her side pocket. A bottle so small and innocent, with a hidden power inside. Just like her. My vision got blury, the world turned over. My face fell dead pale on the floor. Light steps tapped on the floor. They sounded... relieved.