Madness consumes me.

Madness consumes me. I wonder how many fingers I’ve cut off before I began to mince his arm into tiny little pieces using one of those ‘Magic Knife’ things. You know, one of the knives that cuts through cans; the ones advertised at 4:08 am in bad TV infomercials. Those infomercials meant for no one really; the same ones that infest your TV when your eyes can barely stay open and your mind won’t give in to sleep. Yes! It is sharp enough to cut through cans and apparently bones too. Puree setting on the blender should do the rest. Our blender is the same one they use on the astronauts’ food. Advanced. Sophisticated. See he always had to have the newest technologically advanced gadgets. If it was new and had the red stamped approval, he had to have it. Not that either of us were ever here to use them. We were hardly ever here. The maid used our kitchen more than either of us these days and that was mostly for cleaning. At least these devices finally came in handy. However, grinding up bones was never the purpose intended. Nonetheless it worked. Betty Crocker and Martha Stewart couldn’t have been prouder of me. I’ve crafted my murder into a tidy household project, minus the bows and ribbons on this and there won’t be any need to pre-heat the oven. Garbage disposal should digest my puree nicely.



Now what did this poor bastard do to end up on the right side of my trash compactor? He tried to kill me. I never saw it coming. Some people never get it, but I feel pretty naïve, cause I never saw this. Well, somehow I got the upper hand, so it’s him in little pieces and not me. How? He poisoned the wine. Red. Merlot. My favorite. Dumb bastard mixed up the glasses. I never did understand how anyone could go through so much trouble to accomplish something and then completely screw things up so badly. You’d think he would have caught something like that? Again I never saw this coming. Naïve. Deer in headlights. Love turned badly; turned to hate quicker than I could blink. If he had got things right, I quietly would have drifted off just as he did… What were we talking about? Oh yes, we were talking about improvisation, how it’s a dying art, when he quietly slid down and slumped over in his chair. How did I know about the wine? See I hadn’t taken a drink of mine yet. Sometimes I get so passionate in my beliefs that I don’t stop talking to breathe, let alone take a sip of wine. And the wine was all we had… After I checked his pulse I realized "Oh God, he's dead." I think most people freak out in situations like this and call the emergency services. I don’t know why I remained so calm. Systematically I went through his pockets and found his plans, notes and letters, my suicide note, and an insurance policy. I honestly thought he loved me, but as I read these notes while sitting at the table next to his body, I began to realize how much he’d really grown to despise me. Somehow our relationship had become a competition - a struggle to him. Seriously, I never saw this coming. I never thought I’d love someone so deeply and in reality he hated me so truly. I open a new bottle of merlot and prepare to finish my task at hand. Chop. Dice. Puree.





Again another bit of writing. An excerpt? It's something I wrote last week. These stories will most likely never see the light of day. But this is a lot of fun nonetheless. Enjoy. kisses. m.