to the innocent victim of his drunken rage. Why did he pick up that singleshot 410? How the hell didn't she die from the blast?
Ah! Yes... It was the reflection in the mirror he had taken aim at. Too sodden in spirits to even think straight let alone shoot.
She knew he would return. She knew he had to, what she wanted, needed to know was why. Why had he done it years ago?
He knew she wouldn't rest until she'd uncovered his dark, shameful secret. He glanced upwards at the attic, where the locked trunk crouched. Hidden inside...
was the answer. His ten years in lockup had taught him many things; he had to do this to get on with his new life!
Weakness! Why didn’t she wait? Why did she go to Esteban? The infidelity was understandable, but the betrayal was unforgivable. Her lies forced his hand.
But what of his own black heart? Did he not stray first? What if she had never caught him with that other, that other...man?
Who knows? Things might have been different. Maybe she wouldn't have sent her cousins Guido and Vinny to rough him up, forcing him to retaliate.
Ah, Guido and Vinny. So often had he imagined their large, hairy bodies entwined. Sweat covering every sinuous inch of man-flesh. Guttural moans of delight.
he shook his head. he had to get that image out of his mind. The image of Emily plunging a hot poker into his balls ...
Much better to think of other, more pleasant things. He told himself to remember his relief when he first realized he had not shot her.
Yes, he paused.. heaving a deep sigh.
It was all just a bad dream. Emily lay next to him, and he realized his worst fear..
Esteban was his son, but he was the only one who knew that he was also his daughter. Sadly, ambiguous genitailia was the family curse.
Fortunately, his Uncle Sebastiano had gelded horses for many years. Sharp blades and boiling tar would set Esteban aright. His son would soon be cured!
Will his son be cured? Will he ever be able to forget about Guido and Vinnie?
We'll find out after this message from our sponsors.
ARE YOU LIKE MANY WOMEN WHO SUFFER FROM THE EMBARRASSMENT OF UNSPECIFIED SUDDEN PUBLIC CLITORAL ITCH AND INFLAMATION? DO YOU FEAR COWORKERS WILL NOTICE YOUR ATTEMPTS...
Suddenly, he remembered that he’d left the baby in the car! What time was it? Damn those tequila and jagermeister shots! Damn them to HELL!
OT: Mark, that's just plain old nasty.
and funny!
Oh geez, its gone awry!
10:00a.m., Emily was at work, the girl/boy has been fetched from the car a bit dehydrated but still alive, and the dream was over. The End.
Of course, it wasn’t really the end. It would never end—not while he remained in the coma. The nightmare would continue, forever and ever…
The nightmare of Mr. Phyllis and his perverse Sponge Bath Ritual. The nightmare of a feeding tube, inserted where no feeding tube should ever go…
the incessant drip of a glucose bag beat a steady rhythum in his head. Sonny Bono hitting THAT tree, swerving to miss the shotgun blast.
Emily! The bitter taste of almonds, but by that time it was too late! Couldn’t we have talked it over? Couldn’t we all just…get along?
Ya'll are sick!
“Ya'll are sick!” he screamed silently in his mind, praying that some god-like, higher power somewhere would end his agony…and turn the comments section off…
But alas, no, the comments continued into the night, repeated the sadness and the sickness -- the images and the mutations repeated over and over again.
Where's Oddybobo??
Has she been skeered off?
; )
Hey, that was not twenty five words. You cannot continue to comment here unless your comments are exactly twenty five words -- like this one is.
Saddamn knew his ass was cooked...... mega-degrees and seared, seared into his fucking mindhole. Guilty as sin: wasted since seven, he screamed, "Eat a bowl"
Commenting by HaloScan
