She stroked her fingers though his hair and stared lovingly into his eyes before letting out a short, light sigh and falling asleep. He pulled the knife out, wiped it, and left.
Introverted Ida happily poured acid in her ears.
Helpfully, Bob learned to sign.
She sat in the corner of the coffee shop, hands tightly wrapped around a hot, skinny latte. She wondered how long it would take them to find his body.
No seriously, this isn’t a story. Your not living through the night.
The basement was full of killers: Andy with his customized spiked brass knuckles; Victor gripping his trust machete; Evan cradling his whipping chain; Sam gripping a duo of rusty butcher knives; Pat with his bear mace in hand. My God, Denny thought as he descended into the basement, this is the day our fantasy football threats come nightmarishly true.
“What happened to the construction workers?” she asked. “They were decapitated by the barber’s scissors,” he replied.
I suppose what shocked me was the matter-of-fact way she said, “Why can’t men be who they really are when courting a woman, instead of surprising her with their true selves once married?
I mean really, darling,” she added, setting the teacup down and turning to stare out the window, “It’s getting awfully tiring disposing of the bodies, and I’m simply running out of garden.”