“I didn’t ask anything. I don’t care if you have a headache. You’re not my wife. You’re not my property. You’re not my servant. You’re a beautifully pliable piece of chewy goodness that I wished to savor. Do as you wish.”

Why am I living here? Yes, it Is more comfortable than the street, but all of this incessant questioning and meaningless talking.

“I just said I had a headache. If you’re going to get all butt hurt about it, just stick it in and get it over with.”

This moment, branded by her words, I will not forget. This is a moment of definition — at least for a couple of weeks days hours minutes...until I savor sweet gooeyness once again. Sweet gooeyness...what... Focus!

I stare at the television, choosing to no longer engage in the conversation, sharing her fixation on the screen flashing a picture of a man on the run, a man who they show clips of raping and murdering a mother and her teenage daughters while the father lie bleeding to death in their basement. There can be no doubt the homeowners never contemplated their assault and torturous murder being recorded when they installed the security system most deemed unnecessary for such an upscale neighborhood.

“This guy is a monster,” Miss Headache offered.

“We’re all capable,” I truthed.

“No! You’re insane. You are capable of that?”

“We are all capable of anything, given the right circumstances. Anything.”

“You’re scary.”

“Don’t confuse your state with my nature. I’m taking a walk.”

“Be careful,” she instinctively added.

She was correct. I do not usually take weapons, but as I passed the kitchen I saw a butcher knife that seemed to call out to join in my walk. Fortunately, the front pocket of my jacket was huge. As I headed out the door, I paused to procure a butterfly knife from my pack.

“Be careful!”

“Don’t worry about me.”

It was four hours before I returned. It is probably best that I forget what transpired. I clean myself — the hand of fate prepared me for an encounter I was unable to shy away from.

I washed the knives of all the blood, leaving them to soak in bleach for good measure; placed my clothes and sneakers in the wash with excessive detergent and set the machine to a long soak cycle; I took a shower and purified my flesh — there were no marks on my face, but my arms have to be covered for a while. It has been a long evening, so I sidled up next to sleeping Miss Headache, ready to spend my exhaustion.

“Good night,” she said, sleep talking.

“Good night.”

“I love you.”

“Of course you do.”


“Are the kids asleep?”

“No, they’re at the prom.”


She talks nonsense in her sleep...regularly...unless there is a secret her I am unaware of...perhaps.

The next morning came before the exhaustion had been spent, and though I wished to sleep into the afternoon, she was making too much noise.

“Could you please turn that down?” I asked.

“No. Sorry. But that guy. The rapist guy. They found him in someone’s yard this morning all cut up. Cut into pieces!”

“That’s nice. Sound like the start to a beautiful day.”

“Nice?! He was murdered a few miles from us. There is a murderer in the area!”

“We’ll be fine,” I promised, rolling over, hoping to find sleep.

“This is scary. A murderer in the area?”

“Maybe the killer knew it was him when he spotted him in the shadows getting ready to do rapey stuff. Maybe he made out his perveness peeping by a house’s porch light and decided to rid the world of a bit of worthlessness. Maybe we’re safer than we were yesterday?”

“That could have been you! You could have been killed last night, if you had walked into that neighborhood. You’re lucky!”

Lucky? Yes, luck helps, but that is simply another name for fate, and I am nothing more than a tool of fate. None of us are.

“Can you please turn it down, I’m still tired.”

“Fine. Fine. Sorry. This is crazy. They say his body is mutilated. I hope he died a slow, painful death!”

“I’m sure he did, but anything he suffered is nothing compared to those young girls and their mother.”

“Yeah, that’s horrible.”


Tired. Exhausted. I need to claim my sleep, and forget for a few moments. Time is nothing more than the connection of events, and there are times when it is best to remove a few moments from the time line. To sleep and replace the memories with memories of sleep. I am tired, sore and sleeping in a long sleeved shirt.

We are all capable of anything. The difference between those who know that and those who deny that is that the knowers are willing to do so much more...