There was an empty feeling inside her. She’d been sure that by now she’d feel a warm, satisfied glow inside her, but no. Nothing. She stood still for the longest time just trying to feel something – anything – and someone walking in on her might’ve thought her a statue. Finally she decided she should get to work.

She took the clothes off her back, put them in the washing machine and set them to be washed on the extra dirty cycle. Then she took a quick shower and got a t-shirt to put on. Clad enough for what she was going to do, she got some water and washed the walls clean in the room she’d been standing. She was amazed at the amount of gunk accumulated over the years and disgusted at the yellowy nicotine dirt that came off the walls as a result of her husband’s years-long smoking habit which thankfully had been mostly confined to this room only.

She took a roller and started spreading paint. As the clean white surface got bigger and bigger she started feeling wave after wave of relief fill her. A friend of her husband’s came to call but she told him she was painting which got rid of him faster than a shot of whiskey in a room full of alcoholics. Lousy, no-good friends of his too. If she’d been cooking, he’d have hung out at least over dessert. Soon she’d be rid of them for good.

When she was done with the primer she dragged the thing on the rug to the backyard, to the furthest, most isolated corner she knew and she buried it, rug and all. The corpse wouldn’t start producing lye too soon she’d have more than enough time to get some paving stones to put on top of it.

She went back to the room where she’d just killed her husband and admired the blank white walls. Thankfully, the rug had soaked all the blood inside it and left the floor as it had been before she’d thrust the knife in the man’s heart. The sun was going down; it was starting to get dark outside and her muscles were aching from all the manual labor she’d been doing all day. Smiling despite of this she picked up a roller and started painting some color on the walls. Tomorrow she’d go report her husband as missing and begin her life anew.