Short Story - "One Of These Mornings"

Wondering if I could write a very quick short story of 250 words in 30 minutes (see previous ass/chair post for where that idea came from), I just started to write something. An odd combination of a self induced writing challenge, Patti Labelle singing ‘One of these Mornings’ from the Miami Vice soundtrack in iTunes, and being kinda tired resulted in this. A 450 or so word count in about 40 minutes and a dark short story... One of these mornings. She had told herself that too many times to count. One day, she’d just up and leave. Gone on the wind, and no one would find her. But days turned into weeks, then into months, and into years. Life just marched on, like a perverted game of hide or seek. Ready or not, here it comes. Then the things that trouble the mind get buried in the routine of running the body and someday soon turns into just get through today. She took another deep breath, winced a little, and then took a sip from her coffee cup. Her morning ruminations had burned time away, resulting in a cold swallow of caffeine. She looked down at the mug, then at a glint of metal on the hand holding the cooling morning drink. A double ring mistake that didn’t pay out on the promise was beginning to get just as cold. It was time. Long past, but as long as the clock was ticking it wasn’t too late. She put the mug down and picked up something else off the counter. Something cold and hard and freeing. She walked out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom that was just as cold as everything else. She nudged the bare foot of the sleeping body on the bed. A mumbled oath, and the two legged mammal was awake. Normally, that’d be a bad thing, but not today. It had taken a long time to get to this point, and she would not be dissuaded from the finality of the payoff. He’d earned it, after all, and so had she. “Morning, honey. Ready or not, here it comes.” And with those words, she raised the .38 and fired the shot. It found it’s mark, right between the eyes. His body jerked backward and hit the blood sprayed sheets beneath him. The look of shock on his face was permanent now. She dropped the gun where she stood, not caring about fingerprints or DNA. She wanted them all to know who did this, and besides, they’d never find her anyway. Then she took one final look at his face and memorized it, then walked out of the room. She kept moving, down the hall and to the front door, where she paused to pick up a suitcase. As she straightened up, she caught a look at her face in the hallway mirror. She winced again as she told herself the swelling would go away. The scars would heal, the bruises fade. The visible ones anyway. The other ones would take much, much longer, if at all. But she was finally free, and with enough time, she would find a way. One of these mornings. The End. by Eaglewing