694 readings


Theresa and Alexander were a happily married couple. They lived in the city of Denver, Colorado. Alexander worked as a receptionist for a high-end hotel, and Theresa worked as a dentist’s assistant. They were very normal people. At night, they went out with friends or stayed in and watched Netflix together.

This was, at least, how things looked on the surface. Underneath, Theresa hated Alexander with an overwhelming intensity. Everything he did, the way he walked, brushed his teeth, smirked when he chewed his food at dinner, all of it was revolting to her.

She clung to this raging hatred. It was her lifeforce. Theresa knew that she detested Alexander even before she married him. The hatred is what she fell in love with. It gave her purpose. Theresa reveled in the delicious urges she felt to kill him, which spiked in every moment they were together. When they had sex, Theresa was savage, tearing at his skin in what Alexander could only comprehend as true passion. Never would he have guessed the hatred that fueled those long nights.

One day, Alexander got home from work and poured out two glasses of Sauvignon blanc. Theresa sat on the living room couch, in shadow, glaring at him as he shuffled across the kitchen floor.

“Theresa, baby, where are you?” he asked. She stood up and walked out from the shadows. “Oh, there you are,” he said. Theresa took the glass of wine and softened her gaze.

“Darling, how was work? You look very tired,” she said. Their eyes locked; she licked her lips.

“You’re right. I am rather tired. I think I’ll go take a nap. You should join me,” he said. He winked at her, and then shuffled toward the bedroom while unbuttoning his shirt.

As Theresa stood there, she knew that it had to happen. It was no longer an urge, but simply a mechanical need. She was not controlling her limbs. They moved on instinct now. She took out the knife and spent a minute sharpening it. When she walked into the bedroom, Alexander was already asleep. His mouth was ajar and his tongue protruded slightly with each exhalation.

She did not hesitate. She did not take her time. She simply stabbed the knife into his chest repeatedly. His eyes bulged open, and he tried to get up. His face was full of terror and confusion. When he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was a stream of blood. She felt nothing. Not even the hatred that she lived for, just nothing. She stepped back, and stared at him, bloody knife still hoisted in the air. When she was certain that he was dead, she walked back over to him and continued to stab, numbly piercing holes in every extremity, careful to spread the punctures evenly across his corpse.

Then something inside her snapped. She threw the knife across the room and began tearing the flesh off his bones, digging nails and teeth into the open flaps created by the knife. The feel of his intestines squishing between her fingers filled her with blinding joy.

The next day she booked a flight to Mexico City. She ate a ham sandwich at eleven and then left for the airport at noon. When she got to Mexico, she hailed a taxi which took her to a small fishing village by the gulf. She only brought one suitcase with her containing some shorts and shirts and soap. When she first got to the beach she sat in the sand shaded by some palm fronds. The shouts of the fishermen slowly soothed her to sleep.

Theresa felt someone shake her, and when she opened her eyes she saw two smiling faces staring down at her. They were a short couple both with brown, wrinkly faces and straggly, white hair.

“Are you alright?” the woman asked in accented Spanish.

Theresa nodded slowly.

“Where did you come from? Do you need a place to stay?” the old woman continued.

Again, Theresa nodded.

“Why doesn’t she speak?” the old man asked his wife.

Theresa began to viciously shake her head and clutch her throat.

“Guillermo, stop scaring our guest to death,” the woman said, playfully slapping her husband on the arm.

Guillermo and Camila took good care of Theresa. She stayed with them for five months, paying them rent with the money she had stored in her luggage. During the day she would help Camila mend the fishing nets and clean the house, and at night she would help Camila cook dinner. Never in all that time did Theresa speak to her hosts, and so they assumed that she was mute. They christened her Sofia, and they loved her like a daughter.

Once a week their only son, Eduardo would come by to eat dinner with them. He was a widower with five young children. The first night that he saw Theresa, he could not keep his eyes off of her. He had never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life. She seemed so innocent and pure.

That night after they had eaten, he took her on a walk along the beach. He paused, took her hands in his, and proposed to her under the moonlight. Theresa saw that he was an attractive man and knew that one day she would marry him. That night, however, she refused his proposal.

He would sit next to her at mass every Sunday, smelling of soap and cologne, to whisper psalms in her ear; and every week, after dinner, they would walk along the beach together. He would propose and she would refuse.

“I will want you forever, my love. I will wait for you,” Eduardo promised, gently kissing the backs of her hands.

After five months passed, she accepted his proposal vigorous nod. She brought his hands to her heart and gazed up at him in adoration. His eyes sparkled in the moonlight and for the first time, he dared to kiss her lips. He caressed her face with the back of his hand. “Dearest Sofia, I shall love you until the day I die.”

She was counting on it.


Image of New beginnings

Few words for the author? Comment below.

Take a look at our advice on commenting here!

To post comments, please
Image of Andy
Andy · ago
Very deep and could be interpreted many ways in meaning. I do get the “New beginnings” aspect from both suspense/crime and romance perspective.