A small piece of flavour text for your perusal

Watching the butterfly flutter helplessly against the window, she knew the time had come. He had to die. The only question was, how?

Absent-mindedly opening the latch so it could fly free, she ticked off methods in her mind…

It had to be an accident, of course, and if he suffered, too bad – she had suffered all these years. It would be poetic if he was the author of his own fate – after all, how many times had she prevented him killing himself in some idiotic venture or other? Of course, she regretted that, now…

Maybe, the garden. Gardening was such a dangerous occupation… so many power tools… electrocution, decapitation – he’d probably be dead within a week.

Hearing the door swing open, she turned; the cold, pensive expression transforming into a radiant smile.

“why, hello darling! You’re home early.” she declared, stepping forward and folding him into a warm embrace. “I’ve been thinking, for your birthday, why don’t we treat you to that chainsaw you’ve always wanted?”


About Marie

An eccentric & quirky artist and writer who fills her time between fantasy roleplaying sessions with painting, writing and playing her guitar (rather badly). Usually to be found with paint-stained fingers surrounded by books and tubes of acrylic paint.
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One Response to Chainsaw..

  1. Pingback: Kill your neighbours! | Don't Paint Like This!

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