Pickle Homer Begins to Understand

>be me, pickle homer
>there is a deep bloody gouge in the ball of my left hand and my right arm is cut completely off
>i am penning a letter to my wife
>"Dear wife-" it starts, but i suddenly remember that she is dead
>i killed her
>i killed her with this very pen

i feel a deep sense of regret and sadness at what i have done, but i know that i must go on. i will find a way to survive, even if it means living in the wilderness alone with my friends, the horses. So I go to the window and howl for them, and they come to me.

My friend, Bonky, approaches me. He is a large white horse with a grey blaze down his face. He nudges me with his nose and whinnies softly, as if to say, "It's cool that you're howling like a maniac, because I'm a horse and that's what we do."

I nuzzle his nose and say, "Thank you, bonky. I appreciate your support."

Then I turn back to the letter.

"Dear wife,

I regret to inform you that I have killed you. It was an accident, I swear. I was cleaning my gun and I thought it was unloaded, but it wasn't. I'm so sorry.

Please forgive me.

I love you,

Homer"

Suddenly, my wife's ghost appears in the room. She looks at me with a hurt expression and says, "Homer, how could you?"

I hang my head in shame and say, "I'm so sorry, my love. I don't know what to say."

She looks at me for a long moment, and then takes out a ghost gun and shoots me, but the ghost bullet goes right through me and bonky. She says, "Thanks for killing me, you bastard," and then disappears.

Bonky looks at me and whinnies, as if to say, "Well, that was a thing that happened."
I look at him and say, "I know, buddy. I know."
Together we head to the horse saloon to drown our sorrows in some hay.
Once inside, I realize that everyone in the horse saloon is staring at me. The bartender says, "Hey, isn't that the guy who killed his wife?"

I hang my head and say, "Yes, it is."

Then everyone in the horse saloon starts cheering and applauding. The bartender hands me a drink and says, "Welcome to the horse saloon, murderer!"

I take a sip of my drink and say, "Thank you. I think I'm going to like it here."
Suddenly, a bullet from outside the saloon punches a hole in the wall and zips clear through my ten gallon hat. I hear a voice from outside say, "That's for my wife, you murdering bastard!"

Then all the horses in the horse saloon start panicking and stampeding. I try to hold onto bonky, but he throws me off and gallops away. I hit my head on the floor and pass out.

When I wake up, I'm in a hospital bed. A doctor and a nurse are standing over me. The doctor says, "Mr. Homer, you're lucky to be alive. That fall could have killed you."

I sit up and say, "What happened?"

The nurse says, "You were shot. You were also trampled by a stampede of horses, you also seem to be missing your right arm and you have a gouge in the ball of your left hand. Additionally-"

"-You killed your wife" the doctor interjects.

I hang my head and say, "I know."

The doctor and the nurse exchange a look, and then the doctor says, "Mr. Homer, we're going to have to recommend that you be committed to a mental institution."

I nod and say, "I understand."

Then the nurse says, "We'll have to amputate your left arm."

I nod and say, "I understand."

Then I'm taken to the mental institution and my left arm is amputated. I spend the rest of my days, armless, in the mental institution, howling at the moon and regretting what I have done. The horses are long gone, but I still think about them sometimes. Especially the way they would come to me when I howled. Now the only thing that happens when I howl is that the other patients in the mental institution approach and their eyes gleam in the shadows like the eyes of horses in the moonlight, horses that once galloped along the plains, free and wild, like a vague blue mist, curling and curving in the wind.
One night my retard genius howls disturb the groundskeeper. He shot me in the leg. The doctors told me my leg has to be amputated.

I nod and say, "I understand."

I am now a triple amputee with only one leg left in the mental institution. The nurse tells me that my remaining leg will have to be amputated as well.

I nod and say, "I understand."