Licking the knife clean gives her ASMR shivers. Sitting or standing
she delivers lethal looks. ‘Itsy bitsy,’ some sing-song voice titters
out. Fingers dance over a blade somewhere behind your back.
Oh, where, there goes your head, lolling off to the left. Periphery can’t
reach her frame, but you hear soft, bare feet padding around that
cold concrete. Concrete. The head is heavy, the thoughts
muddy. ‘Hey, buddy,’ she crows, ‘let’s go.’ And a foot tips your chair;
down it goes. With a crack things get numb, black. You’re gone.
Sudden blunt force trauma cracked the skull as it snapped into the floor.
No skin abrasion even, just intracranial bleeding. Just a brain swimming
in blood. ‘God dammit,’ she cries, and kicks the body; ‘God dammit,’ she laughs
and cuts loose dead wrists and ankles. Once apart from the chair she straddles
the corpse and hugs it, and laughs and cries.
Tell me what someone looking into dead eyes sees?
I wonder if my life flashed fast across my eyes,
when my wife woke one night to give me a surprise.