I’m so much happier now that I’m dead. Technically missing. Soon to be presumed dead. Gone. And my lazy lying shitting oblivious husband will go to prison for my murder. Nick Dunne took my pride and my dignity and my hope and my money. He took and took from me until I no longer existed. That’s murder. Let the punishment fit the crime.
Technically, missing. Soon to be presumed dead. But as shorthand, we'll say dead. It's only been a matter of hours, but I feel better already: loose joints, wavy muscles. At one point this morning, I realized my face felt strange, different. I looked in the rearview mirror - dread Carthage forty-three miles behind me, my smug husband lounging around his sticky bar and mayhem dangled on a thin piano wire just above his shitty, oblivious head - and I reealized I was smiling. Ha! That's new.
From
Gone Girl by
Gillian Flynn,
paperback edition, page 219