Tea & Toast

‘Then he got shot.’

‘Ah huh.’ He nodded and sipped his tea. The cup’s base chinked as it rested on the saucer and was placed upon the kitchen table.

‘It was brutal. All that shouting and screaming. No one deserves to live like that, you know. Can only put up with it for so long, it had to be done. More toast, dear?’ She asked, pushing the plate forwards.

‘Ah, huh.’ He scraped jam on his toast then nibbled on the corner. Picked up the fine bone china with a scene of a rose garden and sipped off the gold-tipped edge of the teacup.

‘As I was saying, blood went everywhere and it had this rich metallic smell. Oh, and the back of his skull was obliterated all from this teeny tiny hole in the middle of the temple. So much blood, it just kept pumping like a burst underground pipe bubbling from the back of his half-head. It was so messy. Splattered bone and blood all over the wall like a tantrum-throwing toddler flicking a loaded paintbrush. But that smell, ugh, it was worse than any butchers shop. It was vile, I tell you.’ She then sighed and sipped her tea with perfect poise.

‘Ah huh.’ He nibbled on the crumbling sweet toast then washed it down with the tea.

‘So, of course, I came home showered and scrubbed myself raw. So, we’ll be having fish for the rest of the week, dear.”

‘Ah, huh.’ Again, he nibbled on his toast and sipped his tea.

‘I’ve put the gun back at the Gibson’s place. Boys that age shouldn’t keep guns in the street. Horrid man. Forever losing his keys while fetching that stupid ball and breaking branches off your apricot tree. I suspect we’ll have less this year to make jam, such a shame. It was such a nice neighbourhood… More tea, dear?’ She raised the teapot.

‘Ah, huh.’ He held up his cup and she poured.

‘So, to think, we’ll have gotten rid of two horrible neighbours and the silly street feud is no more.’ She reached for the side dresser and pulled out a package. ‘Here, dear, your new batteries.’

He picked the packet off the table, added the battery and flicked on his hearing aid. ‘Sorry, luv, miss much?”

‘No, dear, you’ve always been a good listener,’ she said, opening the kitchen curtains.

‘Why are the police lights flashing?’ Up from the table, he peered over the sinks and through the window.

‘Seemed there was a little murder last night, dear,’ she replied as she sat back sipping her tea hiding the slight smile behind the delicate china.

(450 words)
If you enjoyed this end to a street-fued you’ll enjoy :  Home Sweet ~ not!  
Where a lot goes on behind closed doors. Found here!
HSN TW2

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