by Cathy Bryant
I could see her through the blinds of his office: face and breasts tip-tilted towards him, tongue playing over scarlet lips. And he holding forth and she drinking it in like gospel.
I wanted to kill her. I daydreamed of a knife in that creamy throat, a boulder crushing her skull, ruining that shining curtain of hair. It’s OK to think about it. It’s harmless. Who hasn't thought about it?
He came out and walked straight over to me, clasping my hands.
“Thank Christ that's over,” he whispered. “Her perfume smells like loo cleaner. And she’s tarty; she wouldn’t stop simpering like a crap soap actress. God!”
I smiled and relaxed, and thought of happy things. How silly to get het up. He doesn’t like her!
Soon the hollyhocks will grow on the flowerbed where the other two are buried. They’ll look so pretty.
2 comments:
Brilliant story, such a strong character emerges in so few words.
Deliciously creepy!
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