The anger shows on her face, yet Michael seems oblivious of Connie's presence, let alone her wrath.
"You selfish bastard." she wants to scream out loud. But the vocal cords are passive and the only indication of this thought is a wisping sound that escapes her lips.
In his own world, Michael blinks and twitches. The crunchy lettuce dripping with tartare sauce makes the only sound in the kitchen as the poor unknowing sod takes another bite. The sour sweet fragrant flavour causing rapturous reactions from his taste buds, rapidly sending sparks of enthusiastic electric intensity to his brain, which in return bounces it onto his extremities.
Reaching for the sandwich knife, a grudging slim hand that used to be as gentle as dandelions in spring, is filled with sinister intent.
A swift stroke later, agony fills the tiny kitchen.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment