Tuesday 18 May 2010
21:18 | Posted by
Dale Darley |
In the lost moments of your anger what did you do? Did you reach for the blade that lay drying on the board. Feel the cold hard plastic handle comfortable in your grip. Squeeze it tightly whilst adrenaline rushes up your arm, stiffens your shoulder and wires your brain. Your thoughts clear, your intentions precise.
Will it only be one stab? Accurately placed, fatality guaranteed. Or will you stab in a frenzy, enjoying the viciousness of the attack?
Then stop as calmness returns, a small trickle of sweat running down your face, drips into your mouth, as you savour your work. The villain is down, you hear his (or her) last breath. The room bloody and splattered, his (or her) artery pumping its last drops of precious liquid.
No in that last moment you realise that the police would know it was you. You couldn't carry the lump into the garden, it would take all night to bury. After, you have to re arranged the plants, clean up the mess, burn your clothes, scrub the floors, all whilst devising a plausible story of why he (or she) was no longer with you.
In the next blink of an eye your sense returns, your grip on the knife of freedom loosens.
You turn to your tormentor and say "Yes dear, whatever you say".
Will it only be one stab? Accurately placed, fatality guaranteed. Or will you stab in a frenzy, enjoying the viciousness of the attack?
Then stop as calmness returns, a small trickle of sweat running down your face, drips into your mouth, as you savour your work. The villain is down, you hear his (or her) last breath. The room bloody and splattered, his (or her) artery pumping its last drops of precious liquid.
No in that last moment you realise that the police would know it was you. You couldn't carry the lump into the garden, it would take all night to bury. After, you have to re arranged the plants, clean up the mess, burn your clothes, scrub the floors, all whilst devising a plausible story of why he (or she) was no longer with you.
In the next blink of an eye your sense returns, your grip on the knife of freedom loosens.
You turn to your tormentor and say "Yes dear, whatever you say".
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