The Hanging of Ones Soul

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Agony and Hatred caused his sight to blur before him. His heart beat an erratic pattern, nearly leaping from his chest to escape the torment his soul was dealt. He was both embarrassed and betrayed, two definite emotions that stirred him to one cognizant thought. If he could not have her heart true, then no man would have it either. With this conviction, he roused from his perch on the lone kitchen chair and set about readying his rifle. When she came back this night, she'd meet her fate at the cold end of the barrel. He had no use for a wife whose heart she'd given to another. With this thought, he sat again in wait for her return. It wasn't until the dawn was breaking that the kitchen's door creaked upon it's hinges and the soft pattering of a lady's tread could be heard. He stirred from his slumber, and without a second thought raised the barrel of his rifle and fired. One beat of his heart passed, then another. His gazed alighted first on the lilac slippers and then swiftly up the woman's clothed body. His heart stopped it's staccato when his gaze met not his adultering wife but that of his virtuous mother. ---- This is based in truth from a story come word of mouth of generations passed. I believe it would have been my great great great aunts who first told the story of this man and his sorry lot in life.