when a woman's fed up

[risa06]

wow.........

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AIM risa06

[divalicious]

Da-yum!!! See? Don't mess around!

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Is it Friday yet?

Peace Love Happiness y'all

DivaliciousNYC@aol.com

[carabee]

holy shitters......

Is this a true story??

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(((((((Do not go gentle into that good night, old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, Rage against the dying of the light))))))Dylan Thomas (Even early 20th century poets hated to leave the club)....

We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves.

Aldous Huxley, Doors of Perception.

**THE MUSIC BEE**

[blackhaus1]

Thats one smart woman.

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[philo]

i'd never have read anything this long, but the story held me all the way till the end...

written by a woman who was really fed up and dreaming???

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elements...

TwiloPalace@aol.com

[chris817]

YOU MAY WANT TO PRINT THIS OUT TO READ! VERY VERY LONG AND INTERESTING!!!

Subject: When A Woman’s Fed Up

This is a very deep e-mail. Maybe to deep but take a second to read it.

'When a woman's fed up!"

A man comes home from work early to surprise his wife with flowers and

candy and finds that she's already got something planned. The computer

is on and there is a note written on it. He sits down in front of the

computer and notices his handgun on one side of the computer and on the

other side, an empty container of pain pills. He reads the message:

By the time you read this I will already be dead, so don't get too

excited. Don't bother looking around the house for me either. Of course

I didn't want my body where my children may see, for they have already

seen enough.

They have already had to endure far too many years of seeing their

mother being tortured by the man they are supposed to look up to. But

even though I know I am going to hurt them dearly, I cannot live like this

anymore.

So, I am taking these pain pills, prescribed for the kind of pain you

inflict and I am going somewhere to take a nap.

Don't bother looking for me, just sit there and do something that

you haven't been able to do for the last ten years, and that is listen

to me.

Now that I had to go and kill myself to get your attention, the

least you can do is finish reading this letter. I have been writing it

over and over in my head for years. Every time that you beat me I

had to rewrite it to add to the horror. Besides the thought of you

touching me, even after death, turns my stomach. I refuse to let you touch

me again, in life or death.

I chose to die because I promised God when I married you that I

would love you for life and since I am more afraid of him than you, I

chose death. I cannot love you anymore so I have to leave this place. As

I look around this house, you know its funny but I can remember the

good times that we shared together. Before the babies, before the

drinking, do

you remember? I do, and it was good back then. It was almost good

enough to give me a little hope that we could get back to those times.

And they were good times. I guess I have to settle with the fact that no matter

what's going on right now, you once loved me, and even you can't deny

that. I think what hurts more than my ribs that are stinging me right now is the

fact that I still love you. That realization is stronger than any fist

you could ball up and hurl at me. Knowing that my love for you causes a

stronger and more lasting pain is much worse than a swift kick in the groin

from your steel toed shoes. But this is a pain that I can take care of,

something that I can remedy. I am not into pain, even personally inflicted kinds,

so I had to relieve myself.

Even as I stood in the mirror this morning admiring the black eye

that you gave me last night I knew you would never touch me again. And

as I sucked blood from my split, swollen lips I knew I couldn't stand

another blow from you. Not because of the fact that you promised

with tears in your eyes that you would never do that to me again. Nor the

fact that you put your hand on the bible and swore to me that you

were going to get help. Not even the fact that you got down on your

knees and swore to God that you would never lift a hand to me again.

Well your prayers were answered and no, you will not be touching

me again. I guess I just had to play God to you. Last night when I

picked myself off of the floor and fell into your arms it wasn't because I

wanted to, I just couldn't stand up. It wasn't because I wanted you to

hold me, as you may have thought. You picked me up and carried me

to our bed and lay on top of me and kissed my swollen face so soft

and gentle. Even though you brushed my hair from my eyes and kissed my

eyelids, I didn't feel anything. And even though I may have moaned

when you put yourself inside of me and I grabbed your butt and

said your name a few times, I was just helping you get it over with. I

moaned because your weight was on my stinging ribs. So what that you asked

me what the hell I was doing when I scratched your back, I felt

the urge. And when you went to sleep, I laid there under you because I

couldn't move. When you finally rolled off of me you were limp and

you left your condom inside of me. The condom you searched all over for

because you didn't want me to bleed on you like I did last time you

kicked me.

I woke up before you this morning and cooked your breakfast like I

always do. I hoped you enjoyed the piss in your oatmeal and the

blood I sucked from my lip mixed in your jelly. I watched you spread it on

bread that I wiped my ass with before I put it in the toaster. I don't even

want to tell you what I did with those sausages. I spit in your coffee and

watched you eat, noticing the look on your face because you knew

something wasn't right. And when you got through with your breakfast, I put your

dishes in the sink but I wrapped the knife you used this morning in a

napkin and put it in my pocket.

After you left I laughed. I laughed all the way to the bank and

took out every penny and took advances on all our credit cards. I

donated half of the money to a woman's shelter, all one hundred and twenty

thousand of it. Now, you can pay back all the other women like me, those

who had the strength to leave their man. Let those women get a pool table

or something, hell, they deserve it. I took the rest and put it away

for my children.

I left some money for Greg so that he can pay for the counseling

he's going to need to reverse the damage of seeing his father slamming

his mother into the refrigerator. I sent the rest to Dana in college so that

she would never need to come back home when she graduates. You are never

going to touch my children again, I made sure of it. No, I am positive that

you will not touch them again.

So, I figured that with me gone you would run over to your little

woman's house and tell her the good news. So I went over there

this afternoon and I killed the bitch. I stabbed her little

backstabbing ass dead in her heart with the knife you used this morning. And

since there was a lot of screaming I knew that the police would be there

soon so I took that nasty ass condom you left inside of me and

stuck it up in her ass. I know you didn't actually kill her but you might as well

have.

It's your fault that she's dead, so why should anyone else take

the blame but you. And since you killed her after you just got through

with her it won't seem premeditated so you will probably just get

manslaughter and spend the rest of your life in jail. They

probably won't sentence you to death. But you will be ok. You got your high

priced lawyers to defend you. The same lawyers that bribed a judge

when the company you worked for had you on charges of embezzlement from

your firm. Remember you gave me those documents to shred? Well, I

shredded most of them. I got up this morning and mailed the others I had

saved out in the garage to the State's Attorney. And since you've

already killed someone you probably are going to jail for a long time

anyway, so those papers are probably going to do much damage. But I had

already mailed them before I thought about it.

Damm, you haven't been this quiet in a long time. In fact, I can't

even remember when you've been so quiet before. I guess if all

that I had to do was die to shut you up I should have killed myself a long

time ago. So, since I got your undivided attention, for a change, let me tell

you what I want you to do. On one side of the computer screen there is a

gun with one bullet in it. On the other side is the telephone. You

could, A: call the police, turn yourself in and go to jail for the

rest of your life. Or, B, you can take that gun and join me. It's up to

you.

Don't worry about Greg, he is with your mother, you won't be

seeing him again. You already killed your girlfriend so she'll do you no

good either. You are about to lose your business and you are going to

jail.

Your wife will be mysteriously found dead in your office tomorrow

morning. My body is still bruised and battered from when you beat me and

your skin is under my fingernails from where I scratched your back

last night. So shit doesn't look too good for you now. But as you

said last night before you threw me into the wall I am a bitch. Well,

ain't this a bitch. Oh, I know that you didn't think that I was going to die

all by myself now did you? I already killed you asshole. You can

either go to jail and get fucked up your ass for the rest of your life

and have your man beat you around your jail cell like you did me at

least until you die like me, after becoming the bitch you claimed me to be. Or

you could take this gun and put one in your dome and kill yourself, it

doesn't matter to me. Remember we said until death do us part right?

Moments pass. There is a click. One gunshot breaks the silence and

his body hits the floor. The roses he brought begin to rise in a pool

of blood that spreads across the floor like a fan. His wife steps out

of the closet she was hiding in and calls the police. She steps over

her husband, sits down at the computer and deletes the message on the

computer screen. She brings up the suicide note that she wrote for

him earlier.

She gets rid of the empty pillbox and calls her mother in-law to

check

on

her children. She hangs up the phone and calls his other woman and

hangs up.

The woman calls back several times but she didn't answer. The

police will assume that husband must have called her before he shot himself.

She practiced all the lines out loud. When she heard

the police pull up she kneeled beside the man that had once

promised God that he was going to love and cherish her and felt nothing.

That man was gone long ago and this body belonged to someone whom she

didn't even know.

She didn't feel any pain besides the tingling of her ribs. She had

no regrets either. She put him out of his misery and ended her own

misery with just one bullet. Yet, she knelt there and screamed

like her life was over.

When A Woman's Fed Up, There Is Nothing You Can Do About It...