m a t t    r i t t e n h o u s e

Secret Wives


Different people have gone off to different places to perform different tasks. They are off on their merry way. Most are with their secret wives. The secret wives hang on to their secret husbands’ arms, and stare down the other wives on other husbands’ arms. One can’t say, at having seen this going different ways parade, whether or not the secret wives and husbands have seen each other naked. This isn’t necessarily important to our purposes.

Characters are making themselves known to each other. They are coming into view. Their haziness is clearing up; burning off, what have you. Fairly soon we will be able to discuss just who we are, by that I mean who they are. The characters I mean.

Every once in awhile these characters ask, in flailing nervousness, “What are we doing here?”

In the backseats of limousines the secret wives whisper things which I am loath to repeat.

Blueprints have been unrolled on the limousine floors. The secret wives pour over the ins and outs, balancing martinis in free hands (oftentimes, when the car rolls through a pothole, the martinis will slosh over their edges right onto the schematics, blotting out this or that location). They are trying to understand things, but are having a difficult time, what with the martinis, and the sloshing, and the husbands’ hands all over the place.



MATT RITTENHOUSE lives and writes in New Hampshire with his new dog Finnegan. He has been published elsewhere with Quick Fiction, elimae, and One Thousand Ridiculous Tragedies.