As many of us always suspected, the end of the world came thanks to the actions of a thoughtless jackass. One John Mehr, to be exact. John had always had a mean temper, but even at his angriest he never thought he would take out the world as we knew it. This Tuesday he had taken his normal shower from 8:03 to 8:10, and while he was dressing he saw there was a stain on his favorite shirt. It was a stain from wearing it to the bar, where a drunken prick had bumped into him with a piece of pizza on a flimsy plate. John had been standing in the middle of the doorway, but it was the other man's fault for not seeing him (in John's world very few things were his fault). The guy apologized, and seemed meek enough. Sensing he didn't want any trouble, John had challenged him to a fight, getting in some of his best insults and pumping his ego a little. At five-seven and 170 pounds soaking wet, he took joy in rattling the big guy's cage. Unfortunately, John was a terrible judge of character and when he shoved him on the way by, the bigger man moved lightning quick and put him in some sort of submission hold. He hadn't hurt John, but made sure the episode ended there. John was humiliated.
Looking at that stain pissed him off all over again. There was only one thing to do, which was remind his useless bag of a wife to do the laundry properly. That was her job, goddammit. He worked hard, paid for a house and all the stupid stuff in it, and put food on the table. Her job was to keep the machine running, and she had failed. She wasn't doing her job, and it was time was was reminded of her place. Her life wasn't free, by God. She had to work, just like him. Like any woman, she just needed a reminder of how important it was to get it right. She got lazy, entitled, even spiteful when she didn't get her way. Mary required punishment at least twice a week, and had since they got married. He supposed he had to pretend he hoped she would get better at taking care of him, but he admitted to himself he liked having to beat the lessons home.
He had worked himself into a fine wrath by the time he found her scrubbing out the oven. The stupid cow had gained weight lately, and her unappealing ass was stuck up in the air while she scrubbed. He jogged the last five steps towards her and kicked her in the tailbone as hard as he could. True or not, he could have sworn he felt it give with a grinding smushy sensation. Her head was rammed into the oven, and she began to bellow big long, whooping sounds of pain. He drew back his foot and kicked her again, this time in the ribs. Mary had always had a weak stomach and he could knock the wind out of her easily. She went down on the floor, one hand reaching for her back and the other covering her eye. He saw black crud on her face and realized she had probably had her eye open and gotten oven cleaner in it. Unaware of his presence, lost in her pain, she just blubbered and struggled to understand, which made him even angrier. She scrabbled on the floor to get away, still not comprehending but moving in the opposite direction out of instinct. Her bawling annoyed him, and he drew back his foot one more time.
This time it was his turn to be surprised. When his foot was at its highest drawback, she sat up and one rolling eye focused on him. She had her small cast-iron skillet in her hand, the one she kept in the oven. He realized belatedly she had been reaching for something, and was more aware than he realized. Her face didn't look familiar to him either, it was a snarl of pure hate. For the first time since he had known her, Mary was pissed. She had swung the skillet and with a sickening thud the dense metal squashed flesh, breaking almost every bone in the middle of his foot and a couple of toes for good measure. He had started to fall even before his brain received the unfortunate news that this hurt like a motherfucker. He began to howl, a high-pitched "oooooh ooooohhhhhhh" that would have been comical under other circumstances. Then Mary lurched upright, steadied herself and aimed the skillet at his head.
"Oh no Mare, don't..." He was going to tell her he didn't mean it, he just got so damn mad sometimes he didn't think. He never got the chance. She hit him directly between the eyes, right at his hairline. His lights immediately went out, his last vision of his injured wife grinning at him, pleased by her aim. He fell backwards with a slow grace that only the unconscious and newborn kittens can achieve, and was barely breathing when she peeled out of the driveway in his Cadillac moments later.