Shadows on walls. Fans spinning above. Leaves falling off plants. A sink filled with dirty dishes. Rips in a couch. The phone rings; another insurance salesman. Christmas lights sparkle in July.

I can’t do this anymore, she said.

What? What can’t you do? he asked. Do you know what you’re talking about?

Yes. I believe so. I have to leave.

Where to? Where you gonna go? You’re gonna wind up dead out there, he told her. All kinds of evil out there. Murderers, rapists, thieves,  cops, criminals, wild dogs roaming, always growling, looking for prey.  Can you handle that?

I think you’ve been lying to me, she said. Lying this whole time.

They looked at each other. Stared. He pulled a pistol out of his pocket. Pointed at the metal chair in the corner. 

Sit down, he demanded.  This is for your own good, he said. He took rusty chains and a couple of locks and placed them around her waist. She began to cry, kick, and scream.

I’ll bet that gun is not even loaded, she said. Prove it to me, she grabbed it and pointed it at her head, pulled the trigger; nothing. Just clicking sounds. You’re a fake like all the rest of them.

I’m going to get us food. That’s what I do for you, she shook her head.

Yeah.

Give me the gun.

What does it matter? There’s nothing in it. No bullets.

Just give it here.

Look, she pointed it at him. Nothing, she pulled the trigger with a sweaty finger. 

Put the gun down. 

Something gonna happen? Scared? I’d be too. She aimed and pulled the trigger again.

This ain’t funny. This ain’t funny.