The mist rose lazily in the cool morning air. It coughed and turned towards the highway.
She sits there on the couch, clutching on the phone and her eyes darting around in terror while she stumbles in her words to whoever she was talking at the other end of the line. It doesn’t matter; she will let me in one or another.
I watched as all my colleagues in the conference room downed the coffee I made for them while waiting for the boss’s arrival. I hope they like the cyanide I added in there.
The strange man watched with glee as the two sisters barricaded their bedroom door with a dresser. For they did not know that he was already in the closet, waiting.
She complained of a bad day at work again.
I made her a hot cup of chamomile tea with a sprinkle of rat poison – that should take care of the problem.