They met online, emailed, talked on the phone for over a year, and finally, they were going to meet. Her heart pounded as she sat waiting, her hand in her pocket on the gun she would use to kill the man who had lured her baby sister to her death.
There was a power failure the night that my mother died; adding insult to injury. Stumbling around in the dark looking for, matches, a candle, a glimmer of hope of ever feeling happy again seemed appropriate for our state of mind.
Attention is a click of heels, perfect creases, heads lifted, jaws set, and chests filled proudly with the hope of doing something good and right.
Four months later, heels click again, heads lift and jaws set as we wait for the gun salute in much shorter lines.
The chicken didn’t ponder long before venturing out into the heavy 5 o’clock traffic on the busiest road in this country town. All she had wanted was to get to the other side to feast on the sack of corn that had flown off of the feed truck, but she had not really considered, as is the way with chickens, that she might get squashed flat by a refrigerated truck on its way to the local Publix to deliver – what else – chickens.
He was only four feet shy of the air conditioner when he fell to the floor suffering from a heat stroke. It was that exact second in time that he realized he had wasted too many precious moments in his short thirty years of life.
A thousand and five thoughts were whirring through his head, among the most logical, number seventy seven was a wondering about only having felt his heart beat three times in the twenty seconds previous. Number fourteen was less rational considering the cirumstances, ‘pepperoni or capricciosa?’
He came into this world with a triumphant howl and as I cradled him in my arms I cried tears of joy. He left this this world for another realm and as I cradled his head once more I bent my head over him letting the tears of sorrow wash over his face.
When I was a child, hide-and-seek was my favourite game: I relished the thrill of being chased, and evading capture.
I killed him to keep that thrill alive, now the police are “it.”
There was a terrible malfunction on the flight, everything went black and I ended up here.
I’m covered in blood, screaming and I’ve got the terrible feeling I’m going to have to go through puberty again.
No matter what happened in the day I always seemed to end up at the graveyard.
I guess I must have died in that crash then huh?
A man jumped from the roof today, landing in a spray of cogs and springs and spurting oil.
His engine beat twice more then seized forever.
“You’re dead,” he breathes.
“I am,” I respond.
We found Mary dead in the morning and jealousy raged through the house for the rest of the day.
Jules, being the wasteful fool as usual, swallowed damn near a kilogram of arsenic although we told him that wasn’t Mary’s poison of choice.
Struggling for a muse did I stumble forth into the gibbering maw of the world. I fell into the Grave clutching the baby-blue journal that freed my soul and the brick that both chained It and mashed my head in.
A small smile played on his lips as he thought back to the moment he had taken her life and how it filled him with utter satisfaction to press his thumbs deep into her throat as she tried to cry out and how with each breath wasted on cries for help he would press his fingers tighter in a cold calculating squeeze until finally her body went lifeless filling him with the power of her death. His smile faded as he snapped out of his memories upon hearing the metal bars of his cage slide shut confining him for the rest of his natural life or until they decided if he was worthy of the needle.
A single tear slid down his cheek, uncomfortable emotions clogged his throat, and anger pulsed at the injustice of it all when the tiny, perfect hand clasped his finger. With a frustrated sigh, he hugged the baby close, stood, and cast a last look at the carnage that represented two ruined lives, before walking around the lifeless body and handing the precious bundle to the waiting social worker.
I’m scared of heights sometimes because when I was about ten I nearly fell off a cliff, which would have surely killed me.
Sometimes I wonder if that was one of those “killing some evil guy before he became evil” situations.
Every day the janitor put on a lab coat and walked the halls, comforting patients, family and friends.
The hospital dare not fire him because deaths have dramatically dropped.
After seventeen long days of a trial that had been postponed for two long and brutal years, she finally had her chance to ask the defendant one question that has been burned in her brain since the day she found his body.
“Who the hell gave you the right to play God with my father’s life?” she screamed, crying, as she swatted the taste clean out of the murderer’s mouth.
You are half right about what I said.
I did say “until death” but I wasn’t talking about me.