'Til Death Do Us Part...

 September was the month that caused the old man the most grief. He sadly remembered when out of the ninth month midnight had forever darkened his soul. Happiness was no longer attainable as far as he was concerned, for his wife had shot through with his best mate that dark night, leaving the man bereft. He vowed he would never forgive her. Never, ever!

Thus, alone he lived and alone he remained, until one particular day when there was a knock on his door. Upon opening the door, he found his wife standing there, bold as brass. She looked him in the eye and announced that she was back! No sorrow or regrets were expressed, nor did she seem bothered by what she had put him through.

Slowly the old man reached for the rifle that he kept behind the door...

Dora, at dverse poets, has prompted us to pen a prosery of 144 words, or less. We must include the line:

'out of the ninth month midnight' ~ which is from Walt Whitman's poem 'Out of the Cradle Endlessly Rocking.'

Here's the link: Prosery Today