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Thursday, July 7, 2011


I took my first life by way of drowning last night. I had met her at a bar a few night's prior. I remember how completely gorgeous she was. So composed, so delicate. We made small talk, then she made the mistake of mentioning that she was a school teacher. My disgust overwhelmed me. I'm not sure what it was about that statement that set me off, but I had to kill her. Maybe it was because she was spending her off time from teaching children as a fucking barfly at the local haunt. Little things like that just rub me the wrong way.

 It was less than satisfying to say the least. To much struggle and splashing. If I want to get wet, I'll go to the pool.

That puts my number probably between the 100-105 range. I lost track for a bit around a month ago. My days and night were running together terribly and I could not focus on anything for the life of me.

After disposing of her, I went for a little drive. Then he made his appearance once again.
He was standing in the middle of the street. Just standing there.

I slowed to a stop, put the car in park and started toward him. He held out his left hand, and in it was a small pink slipper. Just like the one that was stuffed in my mailbox months back.

I woke up back in my house. No recollection of getting there but I wrote the whole thing off as a dream.

Then I saw the slipper on my dinner table. Neatly folded up inside the petite pink slipper was a photograph.

Of Penelope.

Until Next Time

1 comment:

  1. Drowning always struck me as something best left until after you've rendered the victim unconscious, completely restrained or at least worn down to the point where they don't have the strength to splash around.

    Can't judge you for being set off by an innocent statement though. On that note, poor Penelope can't seem to catch a break, can she?