Spoiler! :
It could have been much worse; he could have left her. She has always been able to handle any situation that came in her life, except rejection. The stigma behind a divorce in her village would ruin her. But he stayed. Puleng was not sure why, considering that he had always expressed how he did not love her anymore. They’d been together for forty years, and they were more strangers to each other now, than the first time they met.
She watched him through the kitchen window. He was sitting outside, cleaning his rifle; the sun blazing behind a handful of scattered clouds in the sky. It was really hot, with a warm, dusty gust blowing softly in the quiet settlement. She did not understand why she still loved him so much. Why she hadn’t left him and moved to another village, if at all the stigma was the only excuse she was using to hold on.
They met through a mutual friend at a wedding. She was only twenty three. They were married a year later. Puleng was more than overjoyed to be the first among her three older sisters to get married. Richard was charming, gentle and understanding. She remembered the glimmer in his eyes right after she agreed to marry him. He had arranged the perfect date; a room in his tiny apartment which was scattered with rose petals all over the floor. Puleng was not one for flowers or that kind of scenery; she always felt it was cliché that men go all out when trying to woo women, by making all kinds of arrangements with flowers; a plant she could never understand. That’s what she thought, until it happened to her. She succumbed to the fresh red roses, tying room in together so romantically.
He sat outside, with a petulant look on his face; quite the norm. Richard cleaned his gun every Sunday. Puleng didn’t understand why, seeing as he barely used it. She remembered her dress, the one she wore that night. It was bright yellow. Bright colours weren’t her thing either, but love changed a person, and the way they envisioned life. Bright was happy, just like she was. She walked over to him; Richard. He was all dressed up in his finest plaid suit, his broad shoulders exuding the man in him. He looked smart, with his clean shaven head and face, his enticing cologne, his expensive snake skin shoes. Tall and handsome.
Puleng spent most of her days at her farm because it was harvest season. She only made it home on the weekends to tidy up her house and make sure there was food for her husband to eat. Richard had retired five years ago. He worked and lived about an hour away from the village at a water treatment plant. Puleng was almost used to not having him around for the thirty-five years he worked there. She could not move away to be with him at his job only because of the living arrangements. He lived in a crowded apartment with other workers. They’d had two daughters already, so he insisted Puleng stay behind with the children until he made enough money to get their own place to live.
They watched an old film about war and politics before he proposed. It sounds odd, but she didn’t mind. Puleng liked watching films, because just like reading, they opened up her mind. She was no intellectual; just a school dropout. However, she did know how to read and she loved how films, equally as books, opened up the imaginative side of her personality. Richard knew she liked films, so he rented one. She cuddled next to him on an old couch, her yellow dress illuminated in the dark by the black and white pictures from the television set. Puleng felt alive again.
She started the tap in the kitchen, still gazing at her husband perched in his thoughts, cleaning his gun. Puleng wondered if he was thinking about her, remembering all the good times they had. She remembered. She remembered him stroking her velvet dark skin while they were watching the film, lovingly. She remembered him wiping away her tears when she cried over the sad ending of the film.
“I love how your brown eyes sparkle in the dark, babe. What I don’t like is seeing tears in them,” he said, his deep voice empowering the room. He kissed her eyes. “There, all better.”
Puleng dumped some plates into the sink under the running water. They clinked together loudly, grabbing his attention outside. Richard looked up and his eyes met his wife’s. The gaze was so distant and cold. It was as if he was looking right through her. Puleng remembered how every look he used to give her, made it seem as if she was the only one in the world.
She believed him, when he said he’d find a place for his family. She promised to save up as well. She started taking her farming seriously. She sold beans and maize and spinach at a local market and it got her along. Richard came home every weekend. As the years went on these visits home became less frequent, because he claimed he was saving the money for a house he’d been promised. On every weekend he’d miss coming home, he’d write a letter to Puleng, a red rose drawn on the front.
Richard returned his attention back to his rifle. Puleng continued what she was doing. She did not understand why she still cared so much; why she yearned for the man she used to know to return. She forgave him the minute she found out everything. At first it was difficult, imagining him with other women, how ever many they were, throwing themselves at a married man with money. She should have figured something was wrong when he stopped coming back home or sending his letters. It’d been over two decades since he started working at the plant, he’d even stopped calling. Puleng was outraged by a man who wouldn’t even call to check on his own children. She kept it all in, and waited for him to come back, because she knew he’d come back home...one day.
Everything after that turned into a rollercoaster of events. Richard did come back after five years, asking for forgiveness from his wife. He came back aged and disgruntled looking. The smart man she knew was covered with shame and poverty. The women had taken his money, he could not maintain them with the little he made. Puleng had educated her daughters through the money she made selling her fresh produce; it had been a hit and her name radiated along the borders of the village and beyond. She took him back like she knew she would. Things were fine for the first two years and then he became scarce once again. One time he sent her a letter asking for a divorce because he claimed he’d met another woman. Puleng, the patient woman she was knew he’d come back...and he did; every time.
The last time he came back to her, he hated her. He retired from his job and he came back home, to his wife. He just walked in one day and they never talked about it. The only thing he ever said to her was how much he hated her. He blamed her for his failure, for his failed relationships. He claimed she had bewitched him into loving her and always coming back to her, even if he’d met a far more attractive and loving woman than she was. An educated, sophisticated woman, who did not waste her life working on a farm; a real woman with a real job! He said this every time he got the chance. Puleng found solace at her farm. She did not have to see him during the week, when she was among her crops.
Their two daughters were now grown women. One was at the local university, working on a master’s degree. The other, the youngest, was living with Puleng and heavily pregnant. Puleng was looking forward to having her first grandchild, maybe this child would bring the peace she’d been waiting for in her household. Their daughters resented Richard for how he treated them and their mother; Richard couldn’t care less; all he cared about was his gun.
His greyed balding head was shining in the bright of the day, under the tree. Puleng looked down and diverted her attention to washing the plates. Everything inside her, her life, her family, her marriage was empty and awkward; but she continued to allow it. Her pregnant daughter walked into the kitchen; she almost startled Puleng because she was so deep in thought. She was just grabbing something to eat before she went to lie down. She stroked her mother from the back because she sensed she was under a lot of stress.
“I’m alright,” said Puleng.
She left the kitchen and Puleng looked up outside her window again. Her husband was not there anymore. She sighed. Richard walked into the kitchen with his gun to go and store it in the pantry.
“I thought we agreed to keep that thing away from the kitchen,” said Puleng in a soft voice.
Richard did not reply, he just carried on walking. Puleng pulled the plug on the sink and the dirty dish water seeped through, with ease down the drain. She wiped her hands on a dry cloth and turned to leave the kitchen. Puleng was startled by Richard, who had been standing behind her, pointing his rifle right at her. Her body jumped a little, but then she brushed him off.
She said in a calm voice, “What’d you think you’re doing pointing that thing at me; are you finally going to kill me?”
He stood there, the gun still pointing towards her; aiming. Their daughter came in, holding an empty glass. She saw her father, pointing a gun at Puleng, her mother. She dropped the glass and it shattered all over the floor. Richard looked at her, then at Puleng and pulled the trigger. The bullet seared through Puleng’s shoulder. It all happened a little too quickly; Richard shooting his wife. Puleng fell to the ground and Richard aimed at his daughter who ran for her life screaming, pregnant as she was; he shot at her anyway. He was fixed in one position.
Puleng lay on the ground, blood seeping through her left shoulder. She did not understand what had just happened to her, but she knew that the man she loved had left her and never came back. For she remembered him, that man; her Richard, she did. She remembered when he was about to propose, how he was so nervous. His knee softly landed on a rose petal on the floor and he presented her with a gold band and asked her to marry him. He had been so modernised about the whole thing. Normally, tradition required him to have his uncles ask her family for her hand in marriage and not directly to her. She remembered jumping up and kissing him all over his face after she said yes. She remembered feeling his heart beat racing a few moments after that; his loving stare. She did not remember any hate in that picture; she had not imagined any form of hate in any picture in their life.
Puleng watched Richard walking over to her, still clutching onto his rifle. His stare was as blank as ever. Puleng was scared, but she returned the blank stare. She would not cry over this man; this stranger. Her Richard was no longer with her. She’d rather die and go and be with him, wherever he was.
Richard pointed the rifle at her again, this time aiming for her head. He hesitated, but pulled the trigger, projecting her red blood all over the floor. He shot her again, this time on her body; next to her heart and again on her stomach. He shot her over and over until he ran out of bullets. He had no expression on his face, just the same blank stare; blood dripping all over his face and drenched on his clothes. He took the butt of his gun and smashed it into her dismantled head. More blood.
It was only minutes later when people flooded Puleng’s compound worried by all the gunshots that were coming from her house. Their daughter was screaming outside; helpless.
Puleng said she’d marry him and he promised a happy ending. They danced the night away around the room, stepping on the sweet smelling rose petals scattered on the floor. She couldn’t have asked for a better man.
Spoiler! :
But that only means that you've carried emotions through with your writing, which I found was also a very strong point in this piece. The imagery you use is also very vivid and realistic. 
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