It was nearing Halloween, and his daily requests were getting more and more bizarre.
Tasks such as kick a puppy and annihilate a flame had been appearing as commands on the refrigerator door in the mornings.
She managed to find ways to complete the commands without doing much, if any, harm. She kicked a stuffed puppy, and ripped out a fire bush that had been blocking the driveway for years now. The house was coming into clearer focus really. Things were migrating to better places.
The stuffed and kicked puppy had landed, nicely posed, on her dresser next to the poem-bookmarks her children had made her so very long ago.
"I don't know how to express my feelings" ended one of those poems. Children of seven years know more than adults in any room, don't they? When do we unlearn how to love?
Yes, things were getting very clear, and the completion of today's assigned task, stake something through the heart, became obvious too. He was asking for it.
She would ask for a divorce today.
This is my entry to 
I had hoped to write a happy story of love, and was clearly headed that way with the children and their mothers day poems, but those five minutes were coming to an end. My having once stabbed a heart in just this way appeared. Into the story it went.
Freewriting can be a portal to the self. If you look down your nose at freewriting, try giving it a shot.
@wales