Word count: 100
Victor studied his wife; finally she had ceased her diatribe.
Retreating and breathing deeply in then out, he joined his hands above as if in tree pose then in front as if in prayer, and closed his eyes.
It had taken longer than he thought, and the exertion had increased Victor’s appetite.
He turned toward the kitchen and walked serenely through the debris.
Predictably, Myra had fought hard; foul words churned from red bow-lips, and pointed red nails clawed until the very end.
At the sink, Victor washed blood from his hands and considered turkey or ham with cheese.