Murder In Her Eyes

There was murder in her eyes. He saw it clear as day.

Problem.

He rubbed the tender spot where she’d hit him with the blunt — and his heart skipped a beat when she pointed the barbaric weapon at him.

“You’re not actually going to use that thing, are you?” he stammered.

“Oh, I should,” she seethed. “I should use it to take you apart piece by piece.”

He licked his lips nervously and cast about for an escape, but she clearly had the advantage.

“C’mon,” he pleaded. “Can’t we be civilized about this?”

“Ha!” she laughed mirthlessly. “We’re way beyond civilized here, Robert.” She paced around him, where she had coldcocked him.

“Bastard!” she hissed. “All this time I was looking for my boy, I came to you for comfort! All this time…” She gasped, trying to catch her breath. “I looked everywhere for my boy — and all this time you were feeding him to me, a piece at a time!

“I should kill you!”

He smiled, then, a psychotic glint to his eyes.

“Yeah,” he smirked, “but didn’t he taste wonderful?

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