Editor's Note: this fictional work contains a scene involving roleplay with an unloaded gun.
*
Only a click was heard when he opened the door to their beautiful two-story house. Sammy was born of money, and it was visible in the design. Their home was made of handmade clay brick. A material that was customarily saved for government buildings lined their walls. Sandstone was the inexpensive, sensible option but was not nearly gaudy enough for Sammy's family. Everything else was typical of a residential house with a tin roof, tinted sand-speckled windows, and Blackwood Oak doors/frames. Blackwood Oak only grew in spades at the titular park, and the gnarly bare trees had such beautiful grain work. Maxwell's favourite part of the house was the door he stood at for a few moments longer. Tingling with anticipation for the surprise that he had in store for his love. The cold air was the only thing to greet him when he walked in.
His wife was on the couch in the living room. Stone immediately grimaced at the sight of Sammy. Unlike her weight, his respect for her steadily declined with each interaction. They only occasionally slept together when their schedule and the stars aligned. It was not like he had married a horse, like Mrs Cornwell, but his once trophy-bodied wife was no longer there. Her face was now softer, along with the iron stomach she once had. The love handles he could deal with and even the occasional stickiness of her skin from whatever scam diet she was on. The single-handedly most disgusting thing was the slothfulness that she bore in all her actions. On her cushioned throne laid the bags of many slain snacks. Her brunette hair was put in the laziest bun he had ever seen. The faint smell of cologne and body odour clung to her. At least she had the redeeming quality of being human. Still, even as Max thought this, he put the barrel of his hand cannon centimetres away from the back of her skull. It would be too easy, but with his medical history and relationship issues public, he would have been the prime candidate. There was a different reason he kept his sidearm aimed at her as he let off a loud catcall over the television.
Her gasp was priceless as she immediately turned off the television. She stared at Max, speechless and dumbfounded, before getting up faster than he had seen in months. When she stood up to close the opened front door, he was reminded of her second redeemable quality, Sammy's doughy round ass. If it was a cake, then the bakery was now out of flour to make it. Sam was in a see-through white robe littered with black spots with spandex underwear that she tastefully pulled off with her figure. Maybe it was just that she was the first one to genuinely share his excitement about being a cop, but her enthusiasm made her look cuter. Most likely, the tainted chocolate made him notice her firm, tightly covered triple Ds. Her squeal made her sound like she was a cow, "You were able to pull off the promotion!?"
"Yeah!" Max gestured over himself to add some more swarminess to her thick-as-pig-shit question that could be answered with the most basic observation skills. Masking his tone with a playful swirl of his service pistol, she gave him a hard shove that amounts to nothing to Stone, "Don't be a dick! I thought you were going to start roleplaying again...."
