Episode 1: Accepting the Moment
Written By Charles Poore
Wendy Briggs referred to herself as a Widow-maker. Essentially, it was a sarcastic scoff that only she found humor in. She would always be the widow of sorts when it came to any relationship she was in. She delighted in the pleasures that each of her former lovers showered her in. She was cold, ruthless, a killer of greedy scum. She was fond of thinking she was a vigilante. In reality though, she was a murderer. For her, ending a relationship was always a heart-breaking experience. Cyanide, false suicides, missing persons, all these were an art for her. Being able to do this takes a certain type of individual, and she was well suited for such occasions.
Her momentary reflecting, brought about a cruel revelation. A fitting end of sorts for those that live by the sword. Left with little more than the smoldering sloop that was sinking rapidly, her grip finally loosened and the plumbers wrench slid out of her hand. The blood that flaked away in the creases of her palm became a grim reminder of the violence that she had not expected to happen. The initial ‘clink’ of the wrench, combined with the dull thud sound as it struck Randall’s skull, filled her stomach with a queasiness that she hadn’t had with any of her previous flies.
He ruined it, she had weakened him prior to the finishing blows, but he put up a fight for his life. She sat down in the cockpit as the bow of the forty foot sailboat took on water. The sails had been torn, the radio had been destroyed and now ‘Joshua’ was about to shake hands with ‘Neptune’. She knew little of how to save herself on the water anyway. For her, it was simply some uppity tool of a man taking her on an adventure around the world.
She took notice to the tuft of hair in Randall’s hand and it made her realize all was lost for her, the stinging on her scalp was the least of her worries. The blood, that previously emptied through the bilge, had drawn the attention of sharks and there were little options left for her. She didn’t shed a tear, nor did she hesitate to pick up the harpoon. She looked back on what had happened and was happy that a hunk of Randall’s skin had muted the ‘clink’ of the wrench. The rhythmic, relaxing sound of the thud echoed through her mind as she peered out into the horizon.
Her life, being a series of
