“No, Jorge!” Mary screams as Jorge drives the 9 inch santoku
into John’s ribs.
“We talked about this Mary,” Jorge says over coolly over the
screams, stabbing John again and again. “You promised this wouldn't happen again. Besides, we have a business to run.”
Blood spatters across the dining room as John’s last breaths bubbled out of
his mouth.
“I didn’t want to kill him, just hurt him a bit,” Mary
wails. “Oh god! Why?!”
“Shut up and get to work,” Jorge said, handing Mary a
hacksaw from the garage. “You started this, so you finish it.”
Mary got to work, sawing through skin, muscle, and bone to
section the man she had once known. A dark red puddle coagulated on the floor
of their home. Jorge filled a beer cooler with ice, and they packed pieces of
John into it. They placed the
cooler into the trunk of their car and drove off to the diner.
“At least we won’t have to buy meat this week,” Jorge said.
“Stop it,” Mary said.
"It’ll be so fresh,” Jorge said.
“Stop it,” Mary said.
“Just think of the margins,” Jorge continued, “Ca-ching! We
can go to Dorsia this week and you can get the lobster.”
“Stop it, stop it, stop it,” Mary cried.
Jorge looked over at her with his flat blue eyes. She was
sobbing against the passenger window. And that’s when Jorge noticed the bright
headlights careening towards them.
Option A) They get grazed at 20 miles per hour, the trunk
pops open. All drivers/passengers remain conscious.
Option B) They are T-boned at 45 miles an hour. George remains conscious, but Mary does not.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.