April is a single mother of a child with a rare autoimmune condition, and a pagan. She loves knitting, Netflix, and her Bullet Journal. This blog will be a way to let off steam and de-stress. Life ain't easy and we all need an outlet. 

Mr. Wall Street

            I didn’t think there would be so much blood.  Guess that’s what happens when the rage takes over.  It was oddly satisfying, the movement of my arm forcing the knife into his chest over and over.  Good thing for the adrenaline or I would’ve never made it past the ribs.  They were mad tough.  I felt a couple crack and knew he was done.   This is something to make note of.

            I’m so proud of myself.  Is this not how you should live your life? You set a goal, devise a plan of action, and work your way towards it.  Success does not just fall into your lap.  You have to want it.  You have to want it bad.  Did I want this? To be standing over a gurgling sack of shit, all short of breath? Oh yeah, I did.  I prepared. I studied and waited.

            Take this guy on the floor; let’s call him Mr. Wall Street.  Do you think he just walked into my life?  I’ve been watching him for months.  I know how he takes his coffee: Black with tablespoon of butter. Yeah, he’s one of those.  I know the shampoo he uses to scrub the plugs he just got. Not fooling anyone, I might add.  I know the brand of condoms he prefers: Magnums.  Yeah, right, buddy.  Keep that dream alive.  Or, not.  Your death rattle is playing in stereo now.

            All this blood is definitely going to destroy these floorboards.  It’s already seeping under.  Wait.  Is this laminate?  Really?  With all the money you make, you chose laminate flooring?  Cheap bastard.  What should I have expected from you, though?  From the looks of the place, you spent all your money on leather sectionals, stereo equipment, and Patriots memorabilia.  Seriously, I should get an award for killing you.

            The papers are going to love this.  The Post especially.  I wonder what they would choose as the headline?  “Hedge Fund Wiz Loses Head.”  No.  I would never take the head.   Oh, how about, “Coffer Boss Takes it in the Chest.” Bingo! Coffers. Chest. It’ll make people think. They need to use their brains once in awhile. Otherwise, we end up with assholes like this one running the show.

            Christ, what is that smell?

            Oh yeah, I forgot. When the human body expires all the muscles loosen, including the sphincter, and all that is held back is released into the world.   I will have to remember that for next time.  Kind of I feel bad for the guy that has to clean this up.  Hope it’s not the Super. He’s got it hard enough with taking care of his mom and all.  Let’s see how much Mr. Wall Street has in his wallet.  Maybe, he can contribute something to the Super-fund.  Jeez, how many gym memberships can one guy have?

            No way the Super will have anything that can clean all this up.  There is not enough baking soda and vinegar in the city for this pool.  The cops will probably hire some professional service. Look at me, helping the economy.  My good deeds just keep on coming.


The Devil Comes to Harlem