writing and stuff

Kill the cocksucker

Shutting up had always been a problem for the cocksucker. He’d tried it a few times back when he’d left school, but it didn’t suit him.

Fenton knew this, he’d known him for a long time and it was why he hated him and wanted him to have a bad accident and if possible to die. Even though he knew it was probably one of those things you just thought or said when you were angry, he’d aways thought it about the cockcsucker so he figured it was probably real enough.

If he did die or even, sometimes he thought, on a particularly bad cocksucker day, when he’d humiliated him or set him up or just acted like a cunt in one of the many ways he had, even if he actually had a hand in his demise in some way, it would be OK.

He had thought about remorse and the idea that after an event like that there’d be all sorts of guilt and maybe even flashbacks, and then what might seem like a good idea, like tampering with his brakes or pushing him off the platform late at night, would suddenly not seem quite so good.
He really didn’t want to be tortured, that would be like the cocksucker having the last say or continuing to have the last say or getting the upper hand like he nearly always did.

He’d thought it through though and he was pretty sure, having imagined all the details, the incident, the aftermath, other people’s faces, the girlfriend’s tears, the mother’s anguish etc etc, he was pretty sure he’d be OK. That he wouldn’t be too badly affected. Maybe a couple of sleepless nights, but the upside, the fact that he would be able to enjoy free rein at work without the cocksucker getting in his face, sending him an email which he copied into everyone else so they’d all know he’d fucked up, or shouting his name across the car park, that would override everything.

Plus, obviously, he’d take his job, get the company car and, if he was lucky and a little extra bit conniving, maybe even the grieving girlfriend. Show a bit of sympathy, no, a lot of sympathy, cry, they loved that.  If she tried to kiss you after a drunken grieving evening, say ‘no – it doesn’t feel right’ , all that sort of shit, and she’d be up for it after a few months, maybe even a few weeks. She’d always liked him.

That’s how the plan came together. It felt like he had to do it in the end.

Kill the cocksucker.



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Steve Wybourn

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