He pined for his wife, missed her every moment. She was not dead. How he wished she was!She had left him for another man. 

He coNtemplated driving a knife through her heart, that which was no longer his. But he knew his love for her would come in the way.

He could hear the constant throbbing ache in his heart. It was now a part of him. Like his benign ulcers, the ones the doctor had said wouldn’t kill him.
He wished they would. 

He went to church every day now. An atheist looking for God. 

Everything is ephemeral, life itself. He knew that. Then why was the pain not going away? It had been months.

One evening, he went to meet his brother in a cafe. His brother had been reluctant to meet him, but he had insisted. Time for reconciliation, letting bygones be bygones.

They did not have much to talk about. Awkward small talk.

And before his brother could apologise, he shot him. In his heart, thrice. 

And he sat watching him die. Till the police came. Till the screams in the cafe had died down.

Yet, the pain did not go away. 

Why not, he wondered. He had just killed the man his wife had left him for.