Honest Communication

Finally, I was going to tell my mother how I felt, how much I hated her strangling parenting style, her constant criticism.   I stood there in the fresh night air, feeling the crispness of autumn fill my throat and clear away the cobwebs from my neglected self-confidence.

As I looked into her eyes, I felt a wave of relief.   We could finally get past our differences, and have the kind of mother- son relationship I'd always wanted.

I could see that for once, she was the anxious one, and I felt a sense of supreme satisfaction, long overdue.

I took one more look at her prone form, lying bound and gagged on the railing of the bridge, and gave her a decisive push.   She fell silently into the ravine below, her body making the most satisfying crunching sound as it hit the pavement.

"Nice talking with you, mother," I said.