But first, a bit about the author: Mary J. Webster is a Canadian writer with "an English degree on her wall and a trucking license in her wallet." She enjoys SCUBA diving, metal detecting, and upcycling stuff she finds at the dump. You can find out more about Mary at her website, which features a badass picture of her next to a truck, among other things.
By Mary Webster
Trish unlocked the door and staggered into her apartment. Her boss had made her stay at work for an extra two hours to prepare for tomorrow’s big meeting, which had made her late for the visiting hours at the hospital. She’d only been able to sit with Great Uncle Mark for half-an-hour before the nurse had booted her out.
Her apartment was dark and she stumbled over a pair of big, smelly sneakers in the dim, blue light of the blaring television. Trish’s bag slipped off her shoulder as she reached for the light switch and her laptop smashed into the hard floor.
“Hey babe!” her boyfriend shouted from his place in front of the tv. “There’s some dinner in the fridge!”
Dinner? Yes... dinner would be wonderful. Her heart soared at the knowledge that he had cooked her some food. That was so unlike him.
She turned on the kitchen light and opened the refrigerator. It was nearly empty! Where were all her groceries? The counter was covered in dirty pots and plates. He’d eaten all her food again! She opened the fridge again - where was her dinner? All she could see was a package of raw pork chops.
“I left you the chops!” he called. “I know how much you like them!”
Trish straightened her back as the fatigue rushed out of her. Her hand found the blunt object on its own. The weight felt good as she walked numbly into the living room and stood between him and her television.
“What the-?” he gasped. He tried to stand up, but it was too late. Fresh splatters of red hit the tv screen and dripped down onto the floor as she let him have it again and again.
She set the big, empty bottle down on top of the tv and watched him stumble to the door. He was swearing and wiping his eyes, but she didn’t care - his wallet was on her coffee table and she was going to order a ton of Chinese food.
The ketchup had only ruined his shirt, but he had ruined the whole relationship.