I took a deep breath and turned the key. I pushed the door open just far enough to see. I backed out, closed the door and turned the key again. I walked to my car, knelt down and placed in front of the right front tire the little box with the holes in it that held the parakeet I was bringing to her as an anniversary gift. I got into the car, slammed the door, started the engine, drove over the little box with the holes in it, hearing the nasty crunch whilst fighting to suppress an overly excited imagination that thought it heard a tiny soprano squawk, as well, looked in the mirror to make sure the little box was squashed flat, snorted through a flash of conflicted satisfaction, and headed downtown to find a divorce lawyer.
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This won the 87th flash fiction contest at The Speakeasy