Short Story Idea (Unfinished) - The Infomercial

I turned my head, the pillow cool to the touch; my body following slowly. My neck was sore from the odd angle and extra pillows I'd been sleeping on; I think that's what woke me up.

I reached under and removed the top one slowly, and without opening my eyes, tossing it by my feet and the dog.



I tried to focus my eyes on the clock radio hoping it was still hours till the alarm howled in my ear. It wasn't easy, the red glow of the LED piercing my retinas in the early morning. Crap - very early morning.


Not quite awake, I rolled back to my left and reached over pat my wife's soft butt.


"What the hell?" I sleepy asked the empty space beside me.


Empty because my wife of twenty five years was not there. Not sleeping quietly, peacefully dreaming about some hot actors tight jeans or floating along a Venetian canal, romantic music playing in the background. At least that's what I assumed most normal forty year old women dreamed about.

As a thirty eight year old man I know I'd be dreaming about some hot starlet in tight jeans. Not that I would ever admit that to my wife. Not that she's not hot, because she is. But that's not the point and I've strayed way off topic.


"What the hell am I thinking about?" I whisper to no one.


Jolting myself back to reality, I knew where she was, sitting in front of the television, in the basement. I looked back at the clock - three-fifteen in the morning.

"Shit, not again".

************ TO BE CONTINUED ***************