Pop goes the Weasel

Vein popping, eyes blood shot.

You are applying pressure like an amateur , it is your first time. You will get better with practice. Till then its your brute strength against the soft, buttery skin. More pressure. More. The gagging sound from the throat is annoying you. You take the skull in your hands. Smash. Smash. SMASH! That should do it. SMASH! That did it. The body shudders, and falls limp.

The lines in your hand runs with river red. And it becomes the color of the moment, like you are wearing red stained glasses, and everything becomes the color you want to see. Its your monochrome world. Skull lays broken, brain splattered, blood flowing. With all the color of red. You soak in the view. You step out of your body like watching it with just one pair of eyes isn’t enough.

You see the limp body again, against the door, staining your new carpet. It was a nice carpet, very intricately done and craftmanship like you’d have never seen before. Shame, it had to be ruined. You see yourself, hands still and red, eyes motionless and red, and face calm and red.

You see the room again. Your furniture lay awry. You have to remember to call up your decorator again. It’s such a hassel. You step back in. You should clean things up, and make a drink. Or maybe just make that drink. You don’t want this moment to pass. Its calming. You don’t clean yourself either.
Neat whiskey. Gulp.
Another neat whiskey. Gulp.
A third one.
Sip.
Swirl.
Stare.
Blank.
Gulp.
Sit back.
Stare.
Stare.
Cock.
Boom.

You never felt a stir.

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