Abraham looked at the bloody mess in the toilet. His wife sobbing quietly in the next bedroom. Little piece of red meat floated around and around. He flushed the toilet and mused to himself, “Rest in peace, little boy or girl.”

The toilet bowel emptied with a burp signaling the finality of it all.

He tried to say a little prayer, but no wet, silent sibilants came from his lips. A numbness passed from his face to his chest spreading down his arms. His hand involuntarily twitched.

He went into their well-appointed bedroom.

“So many years of work and sacrifice,” he mumbled to himself as the numbness spread to his stomach.

Sarah, she of the flaxen hair and trim figure, sat. Tears in her red, red eyes. She clutched at him for support. Abraham stood off a little.

“Abe, Abe, why? Why is this happening to me?”

Abraham stared at the wall. “I don’t know.” The inflection was out of his voice. The heart was out of him. He knew why. Anyone with a basic grasp of biology would know that.

Sarah shook and reached for a nightstand drawer, pulling out a rosary. “Please pray with me.”

Sarah made the sign of the cross.

“I believe in God the Father—”

Abraham yanked Sarah’s golden locks.

“Why!? Why!? Bitch! You’re fucking 39!”

He rammed his fist into that pretty little mouth, the one which looked so cute when she would say something smart assed with an upturn of her lip.

The numbness was gone.

He fixed her head in position and hammered another blow home, sending a gout of blood splattering all over their nice rose-embroidered bedspread.

Sarah’s face twisted into a mask of fear and confusion; crying out like a beaten crack baby, she asked, “WHY!?”

He kneed her in the stomach. “That’s why, cunt! Three miscarriages. ‘Put your faith in God?’ What about you?”

She keeled over, grasping at the carpet, dry retching. He looked at her slim, sweet ass in that 50’s style house dress cinched up oh-so-tight at the waist. Another fucking LARP to complete her image when they first met on Catholic Match a few years ago.

Abraham wound up a kick and launched it at her ass.

The ball of his foot caught her hip sending a jolt through his leg. His throbbing foot enraged him further.

When Sarah hit the floor squealing, he was on her, pummeling her tight body with his fists in a maelstrom of fury.

“How many guys did you fuck in your twenties? How many years did you waste?” he screamed at her.

Their dog, a little King Charles Cavalier spaniel, heard the commotion and ran into the bedroom.

“Sammy! Sammy!” Sarah cried out.

The pup ran over to comfort his mommy.

Abraham grabbed the dog by the scruff of his neck and pitched the pup down the stairs. The dog landed yelping and howling in pain.

Sarah started bawling.

He punched Sarah in the back of the head. “That is what we have instead of kids? Some fucking nigger whore in the projects can have four fucking kids before 30, but you? Your fucking worthless ass can only have dogs!”

He snatched up her hair again and dragged her into the bathroom.

Sarah tried to pull away; he twisted her arm until a popping sounded, her shoulder dislocated.

“Here we go!” he said as he got her all the way into the bathroom. “Honey, send the kids my love!” And he shoved her face into the toilet.

With a frantic thrashing, Sarah jerked away long enough to yell, “No, Abe!” He drove her face back in hard enough to break her nose on the porcelain.

Muffled gargles bubbled up from the bowl.

He bore down with all his weight, straining his muscles into knots.

Three minutes later, it was over.

Abraham slumped against the bathroom wall. Sarah’s hand hung limp over the sides of the shitter, her perky ass sticking out at him.

His head went to his hands as he sobbed uncontrollably. Only the sounds of water dripping and the dog whimpering echoed through the house to comfort him.