Geoff was dawdling along the path back to the car. His family was already there, running ahead, itching to get at the afternoon lunch they had packed. He was lost in a world of imagination or trying to be. In his latest novel he had hit a roadblock and no matter what he does he couldn’t think of away around it.

Not without a rewrite anyway. That was something he didn’t want to do. The last rewrite he started never got finished and ended up in a box or was it in a drawer. He didn’t care it was away, out of sight out of mind and all that.

‘Hurry up slow coach, we’re all starving here,’ Shouted Jane.

‘Yeah dad hurry up will ya.’ The kids chimed in.

Geoff opened the car.

He finally arrived at the car were a cup of tea was waiting for him. Thank you Jane for thinking of bringing the flask. With the cup in his hand he leaned against the the front of the car. Looking out across the fields there was nothing here to print his ideas, to encourage his imagination. For the first time a walk across the countryside didn’t stop him thinking about his novel.

He closed his eyes letting the growing wind clear his head. He emptied all the thoughts flying around in there like bees in a hive. He thought of blackness. A dark hole in a cave so deep in the earth light could not penetrate.

‘Are you OK?’ Jane asked. Geoff could hear the slight tremor in her voice. He knew she was thinking Oh! God here we go again.

‘Yeah, I am dandy. Just clearing my head.’ He looked at his wife and the thought he had was so horrifying he had to turn away.

The thought shocked him to his core. Never before had he thought about burying a cleaver into her skull. The image was there and felt like it was there to stay. He had to get away.

Geoff walked off into the nearest field. The grass had grown high. It was up to his hips and it was a struggle to get through it. Preserving he pushed his way through the stems letting it tickle his legs. Half way across the field he sat down swung the backpack off and opened it. He had no idea why he had brought it but now it lay in his lap he felt it was meant to be.

He had spent the night sharpening the blade. He tested it on a price of kindling and it slipped through it like a hot knife through butter. Now Geoff hefted it up feeling the weight. Tossed it from hand to hand, he like it a lot. Then he heard the rustle of the grass. He was on his knees crawling away deeper in to the sea of green.

‘Geoff’ Jane called. She came upon his bag. ‘Geoff?’ She spun in a circle looking for him.

He heard the shout of his name he chose to ignore it. But when he heard the scream his blood ran cold. He had never heard his wife scream like that. He turned around and headed back. It was the right thing to do.

He can to the backpack sitting in the ground covered in blood. There was nothing else… then he spotted the hand a small puddle of blood were the wrist had been severed. The little hatchet hung from his right hand with blood dripping from the blade.

Geoff fell to his knees with a cry.

‘Noooooo!’