Lamb to the Slaughter – writing task

Mary Maloney sat in wait of her husband. She had arrived home an hour earlier and her husband, Patrick, would come home any minute. She sat waiting in the living room, the curtains were drawn, the lamps on, and a bottle of beer sat on the kitchen table. In the oven, the lamb was cooking. Usually, they ate out on Thursdays but Patric had called Mary earlier and asked if she wouldn’t mind staying home that evening, he said that he had to talk to her about something. As Mary sat she thought about what it was he wanted to talk about, maybe he was tired and this was his excuse not to go out, after all, Patrick had a high power job as a successful businessman, he was always tired. Patrick arrived, Mary went to greet him but froze when she saw the expression on his face, it was a look of guilt, of sorrow, and also of relief. He told her. She left the room. In the kitchen Mary thought about what her husband had told her, she thought about the life she faced. Being an only mother was not as bad as it once was but the thought of raising a child on her own was terrifying, she didn’t want to do it alone. Mary remembered the lamb in the oven, in a trance, she took it out and prepared dinner. As she worked Mary felt something building inside her, it was red and angry, it was powerful. She carried two plates of dinner to the table, she glanced at her husband and it was as if a dam had opened to let out a stream of words, they weren’t nice words, they were the sort of thing a person was never to say, they were sharp as knives, heavy as stone. They cut him down, crushed him under their weight. When Mary was done he was an empty shell, dead to the world, he sat there and stared. Mary left the house, she never came back.