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Rated: GC · Other · Horror/Scary · #1978138
You know that arterial spray thing they always talk about?
“My shrink fired me yesterday. So today I came back, wrapped my fingers around her neck until she turned blue and then slit her throat. You know that arterial spray thing they always talk about? It is kind of amazing to watch. It actually happens in slow motion like some special effect from a sick ass movie. She should have known better, I don't take to rejection too well, she should have read her progress notes, silly bitch.â€

“I saw you. I watched you, she wasn’t happy when you tried to strangle her. She asked you to stop. Have you never heard the word no? All that blood made me sick.â€

“Your vomit made the damn floor all slippery I almost killed myself sliding in all that puke. Tell me, how is it possible for one human being to have so much vomitous? Is that a word? I just made up a word, vomitous: the volume of puke spewed by a loser.â€

“I still feel sick, weak and my mouth tastes like a garbage disposal.â€

“Get over it, you little twerp.â€

“Just for the record she fired you, not me. I am still the perfect patient, too bad you had to kill her.â€

“Piece of know nothing shit, that's what she was.â€

“Really? I thought we were making progress, at least I felt like a great burden had been lifted in our last session.â€

“Our last session? Isn’t that when you started confessing about how I might be a serial killer, rapist, animal abuser, Girl Scout cookie thief? Where did you get those stories? I never really did steal any cookies, but the other stuff about the bodies being dismembered, pieces being thrown in to the river and about the souvenirs. Why the hell did you tell her?â€

“Confession is god for the soul. I am a keen observer. I watch, I watch you all the time, you're sick, you have a problem, remember mother told you that when we were kids.â€

“Don't bring her into this. She was a sick, sick women, burning me with cigarettes, locking me in the closet, the basement.â€

“Mother always treated me with respect. You didn't have to kill her.â€

“She got what she deserved. She always wanted to be number one at something, so she has the place of honor on my hit list. My first. Hee hee, the silly old bitch never knew what hit her.â€

“What did you hit her with?â€

“That old antique garden spade she was so fond of. You remember, she claimed it was from the garden of the LaLaurie Mansion. Hee hee.â€

“Don't be so smug, I miss her.â€

“Miss what? Her yelling, her drinking, her slapping me silly because my homework wasn't done? What exactly do you miss? I know, she use to puke just like you, both of you big time pukers!â€

“No, times like these I wish she was here. She always brought me peace.â€

“You do know she's in the car.â€

“What?â€

“Yeah, I keep her in the trunk.â€

“Really? After we are done here I can sit with her and talk?â€

“Anything you want, anything that is going to keep you quiet. We are going to have to take a trip after this.â€

“What about the others? Do you think the doctor believed me about the others?â€

“Too late to worry about that now, this doctor is going to sleep with the fishes. Help me drag her body in the bathroom.â€

“Do you always carry that knife?â€

“Ever since number five. Do you remember number five?â€

“That cook at the diner? You mean him? Was he number five?â€

“No, he's only number five if you don't count mom. You have to count mom. Number five, I remember this like it was yesterday. Number five was that sales clerk.â€

“Oh yeah, the sales clerk. She was nice. I think you should have asked her out.â€

“I did, don't you remember? She said no way, I have a boyfriend and he's big like a boxer. Then I said where is he now, I mean right now? And she said outside waiting for her in the parking lot and I said you mean number four and then I hit her with that old baseball bat I use to carry. That's when it splintered as it hit her skull. They don't make baseball bats like they use to.â€

“They don't make skulls like they use to. Four and five were such a nice couple.â€

“You are an ass.â€

“You always put me down when I get sentimental.â€

“Shut up and help me drag her to the bathroom. We’ll wrap the pieces up and toss them in to that rug. Bring that rug over here.â€

“I am going to puke. How come she looks like she is watching us?’

“Vomitous, go ahead, you pansy.â€

“Leave me alone.â€

“It took me two hours, by myself, to butcher the psycho analyst. Lots of body fat. I had to take mom out of the trunk and put her in the backseat to make room for the good doctor. Doctor quack. There's an idea, feed her to some ducks, are ducks meat eaters?â€

“No, they are vegetarians. Mother seems a bit off today. I don't think she has bathed in awhile, must be the senility.â€

“You think? Or maybe she's dead?â€

“Stop it. I won't have you say anything bad about mother. Look you made her cry, again. Just like when we were kids and you would get in trouble she would cry and pray to god for a good son.â€

“She always had you.â€

“She wanted you. So where are we headed?â€

“South, I think. Mexico. I read on the internet that those cartels down there could use my special skills.â€

“What skills?â€

“You know my special skills, my dissection skills.’

“Okay, wake me when we get there. Mother, please, you should have thought of that before we left.â€
© Copyright 2014 Duane Engelhardt (dmengel54 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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