short stories part 2, read part one first!

As he drives home through the pouring rain his eyes turn red. His fists clench tighter around the steering wheel as his heart fills with rage. He loosens his grip only to take another drink. He slams on the breaks and skids as he curses at the red light. He honks his horn impatiently as if it will cause it to turn green. He curses louder when it doesn’t work, and smashes his fist off the steering wheel. The second it turns green he screeches his tires as he speeds away. Another red light! Another fit of rage! Cursing so loud a man walking his dog down the street turns to see what the ruckus is. He turns back quickly as the man pounding his fist on the wheel pauses a moment to give him the finger and curse loudly at him. As he pulls into his driveway he rushes to the house, taking no time to turn the car off or shut its door.
Bam! He takes one look at her sitting there, she didn’t do the dishes again. He takes a drink, pulls the gun from inside his coat. He calls her name in a mocking voice, but he doesn’t wait for her to turn around. Bam! The blast is so loud it knocks pictures from the wall. He sits at the table beside her, wipes her blood from his section, and takes a long look at the very thing that turned him into what he has become. He picks it up, and he takes one last drink of that whisky. Picks the gun up off the table and Bam.
He lays there in a pool of his own blood. He can’t see anything, but he can feel everything. The pain is unbearable, but he can’t find the gun. As he lays there, he thinks of all that he has done, all that has happened to her, and knows it is all his fault. As he slowly drifts away, he mumbles softly the words "I’m sorry", and this time, he means it.