 |
||||||||||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|||
|
“Some people say that life is too short,” Tony Apetits was telling Marklarv. “I highly disagree. You see, people live their entire lives, without contributing a single thing to society. In fact, most people take away from society—kill, steal, rape, forget to wipe their shoes on a welcome mat.” Marklarv furrowed his furry eyebrows and responded. “You’re just saying that because I raped and killed that woman after stealing her television. And I’m sure I forgot to wipe my shit-covered shoes on the welcome mat. But so what? I take enough shit in this world to take a little shit back, too.” Apetits sighed while tugging at the truss at his crotch. He shifted in his chair; which happened to be from the same woman’s house—taken two years prior. “But no matter how much shit you take, you should give a little too. Otherwise, you don’t deserve to live long.” “You mean that take a penny leave a penny shit?” With a grunt, Apetits flung a penny towards his companion and said, “Now, I need a favor from you. I gave you a penny, so now you give me yours.” “OK. Name it. What’d you want?” “Send the woman’s body back to her relatives.” Annoyed, Marklarv scoffed, and gestured at the cold cadaver that was sprawled carelessly on the table. “Yeah right, Tony. Shall I FedEx it?” “You had your fun.” “Wait a second here. I thought you brought the wormfood in.” Tony Apetits’ eyes widened, his hands dipped towards his belt. He pulled a .45 out of its holster and placed it on the table in order to tug feverishly at his itching groin with more range. “You mean you didn’t bring the dead bitch back? Fuck, man, I thought you were trying to teach me a lesson or something. I sure as hell didn’t take her bleeding ass out of the house. I left her right where I slit her throat—in the living room.” A chill slid down Apetits’ spine, when he casually glanced at the gun, and found that it was now in the dead woman’s hand. Like an eager jack-in-the-box bursting from confinement, the woman shot to a sitting position. Her dead, pale face, framed horribly by crusted blood, turned and faced Marklarv. “Life is too short,” she said in a voice like snakes slithering over crumbling bones. “But what the hell does that matter?” Thunderous murder filled the room.
|
|||
