There are a lot of allergens; and then, there are people – men, to be specific!
She was allergic to one particular of the species.
Let me start by killing the urge in you to skip to the end. She ends up being in a mental asylum. I don’t think it is fair or even right, but we are not here for my opinion. Yours? Yes, but for that you will have to read the entire story.
She was not like this from the beginning. She was a girl beyond her years, smart, intelligent, full of romance (not the kind you see in movies, but real romance). She craved intellectual discussions, de-stressed herself by cooking, found romance in raindrops falling on her face; she would get drowsy with the smell of winter, appreciated nothing more than butter melting on warm toasted bread.
Her life was sucked out of her by her husband, whom she willfully gifted her Self to. Slowly and steadily, he won that race. But she wouldn’t let that happen so easily. She had to do something about it. One morning, she woke up to realise that her husband had not talked to her in about two months. Her mother called up to check whether she was alive or not (like she had been doing for the past six years) and she couldn’t control herself, and started howling like mad. Like mad! Just the realisation of not being able to enjoy the smallest things in life had shattered her.
But she was no Titanic. There was no glory in going down. So that day, she decided she would end her misery. The only question that remained was, HOW!
Her husband was a hugely built tall man. She couldn’t take him down. She couldn’t poison him either. That would mean prison. Accident? She couldn’t ask someone to kill him on the road; that could be traced back to her too. She didn’t want to be confined again. But then, how else could he die?
As she was thinking of how to kill him, her mind wandered to the happy days in the past, when he loved her (or pretended to) and they chirped together, and wined and dined. And like a bolt of lightning, appeared this picture of him choking at a fine dining restaurant. “What was it that we were eating? Come on! What was it? Think girl! It IS important! YES!”
It was something with prawns in it. Suddenly, she felt like dancing. Her energy rushed back into her, and her cheeks changed hue from pale to bright pink. She could feel her face getting warm and she was delighted. She had found a way to live again.
They had to have one last dinner together. She would tell him that she would leave him and they would get divorced and she would not ask for any money. That would make him happy and he would agree to have this dinner. She would go herself to buy prawns, fresh and the best in the market. After all, she would not give anything bad to her beloved husband, now would she?
He loved chicken and devoured it like a beast. If he were any lower than what he actually was, he would eat it raw. So she bought chicken as bait. And she bought the spices and curries and all kinds of flavours to lure him to that last dinner.
This is how she had planned it. She would make two portions of chicken, one with prawns and one without. She would serve him a little bit of both. First, without the prawns and then with them. As soon as he would begin to choke, she would wait and savour the moments and wait for him to choke on the past six years of her life. And then, she would start weeping, for she did not like sad endings… and death was definitely sad. She would then call an ambulance that would rush him to the hospital and declare him “BROUGHT DEAD”. He would be dead and she would be alive again.
Her version of the story would be that she had cooked two separate meals, one for him and one for herself. She had told him which one was his and they had had a good meal. She would tell them that they enjoyed themselves and laughed and chirped like eons ago and they were happy. Then she got up to clear the table. She was in the kitchen to do the dishes, so she didn’t hear anything. He must have tried her portion. When she came back, she saw him fallen on the floor. She quickly called the ambulance. “He is allergic to prawns!” She even shouted after them…
And she would weep and weep and weep to corroborate her story.
Her husband was a hugely built tall man. She couldn’t take him down. She couldn’t poison him either. That would mean prison. Accident? She couldn’t ask someone to kill him on the road; that could be traced back to her too. She didn’t want to be confined again. But then, how else could he die?
Truth be told, everything happened like she had planned. EVERYTHING! TO THE T! And she was freed forever…
Wondering how she ended up in the asylum that we mentioned in the beginning?
She laughed and laughed and laughed after the police had left and then, she snapped… She could not contain it. She could not contain the joy. She could not escape from Freedom!
About the Author
Divya Zutshi is a freelance training content developer. She is passionate about reading and writes occasionally. She can’t stand grammatical inconsistencies, so she thoroughly enjoys her job. “Allergic to Love” is her first story, and she wishes to add many more to the list.
