life is a dance with the reaper

Angry does not begin to describe what I was feeling. He sickened me, utterly. I hated the smell of him, the sight of him, the sound of his body dropping forcefully into his “slackass” model Lazyboy, like a sack of wet manure. For an entire week I’d slept with the knife under my pillow, just working my way up to using it. If his fat sweaty fingers touched me just once more, I swear…Ahh, sleep, comfort. Maybe tomorrow.