They opened their marriage gifts.
‘What’s this ?’ she said.
‘Chekhov’s gun’ he said.
‘Hang it on the wall, in case we need it.’
Seven years passed. Times were good.
‘Do we really need that gun hanging
on the wall ?’ she said.
‘I think it’s filled with blanks.’
They grew old. Times were hard.
‘I can’t stand it anymore’ he said.
He closed his eyes, put the gun to his head.
The doorbell rang. ‘It’s Chekhov’ she said.
‘Here, Chekhov - take your damned gun’ he said.
‘It’s been nothing but a heap of trouble.’
He slammed shut the door. ‘My hero’ she said.
‘A happy ending’ he said.
Chekhov stood in the garden,
pulled the trigger.