CrianÇa Botas Timberland Easy

Easy
Looking down at my bloodstained hands, I realized that killing someone is pretty easy. I never understood how simple it was to snatch the life from another living person, but I guess there is only one way to learn…it was really easy though.
Maurice's body lay sprawled across his kitchen floor, his chest damp with an unnatural shade of red. The 14-inch butcher knife that lay next to his body was equally bloody. I thought it looked like fruit punch, but that's just me.
His blank eyes stared at the ceiling, as if studying the structure itself. Etched across his face was a look of horror, fear, and somehow,Coogi, constipation worked its way into the equation.
All of these facts and details slowly crept into my consciousness, but in the grand scheme of things, it didn't really mean anything. Nothing seemed to matter at the moment. I just killed someone…it was really easy though.
I mean, really. What am I supposed to think about? The 2004 election? The AIDS epidemic? The outbreak of metro-######uality? Somebody's life is GONE. Totally gone. Not here, not there, but GONE. Like an echo, it's already begun disappearing, and there is nothing to do about it. It's over. Done with. He. Is. Gone.
I think I felt numb. 100 Novocain-ed. I think I even smiled a little. Okay, not a smile. More like a smirk. Somewhere in my head, I knew that something wrong had just happened, but that thought quickly ran for the hills. I was overcome with a feeling of justification. This fool, this butt-wipe, this miserable greasy smear of anal grease had become what Charlie Murphy had called a "habitual line-stepper". This (insert Puerto Rican swear word) had overstepped his boundaries and someone had to teach him a lesson. It turned out that I was the only teacher around with a degree.
I didn't regret it either. Not one part of the entire encounter was remorseful. In a weird, twisted, animalistic way, I almost got a strange high out of it.
But don't think it was planned. I'm not a pathological homicidal mad-man,CrianÇa Botas Timberland, bent on dicing up little Catholic schoolgirls like carrots for dinner. I consider myself to be pretty normal. Sure, I was home-schooled, but still…I'm pretty normal.
My plan was to walk into his house and punch him. Whenever I would visit Maurice, he would always leave his back door open, so I didn't have to worry about getting inside. All I had planned to do was give him a good solid knuckle sandwich, served with a side of ouch. Believe me, I did not plan on killing the guy. I guess the plan changed when he was actually waiting for me. I don't know how he knew I was coming over. I don't know how he knew what I was coming for.
Maybe he got a hint when I left the restaurant last week. He, his wife, my wife and I would go out for dinner once a month. It got a bit too overwhelming for me, seeing him smiling, laughing as if nothing had happened, so I just walked out. He tried to stop me and ask me why I was leaving. I just looked into his eyes and he knew. I didn't have to say a word. He knew.
So he's been tense for a while. No doubt he's been waiting. I guess I should've known. I always saw him as a punk, so I didn't think he would have the balls to do anything about it. I guess I was wrong.
Did you ever notice that whenever you're about to do something wrong, you are aware of EVERYTHING around you? I walked in the door and headed up the stairs into Maurice's study room. As I opened the door, I caught a glimpse of him swinging a baseball bat in my direction. Talk about surprised. This little man was ready to fight me! I wanted to laugh at him, but I had to move out of the way before my head was busted open like a watermelon.
The whole thing was weird for me, because I noticed the strangest things. I noticed the color of his eyes. I noticed that he had a growing wet spot surrounding his crotch. I remembered that I left my car running. I remembered that my light bill was due two days ago. It was really weird.
Unfortunately, I was too busy noticing stupid things to notice that he was ready to swing again. This time, he whacked me on my back with the bat and I was stumbling out of the room, tripping down the stairs.
I also noticed how time seems to speed up at the wrong times. For instance, time flew by when I fell down the stairs. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, he was already down there, waiting for me. I didn't even realize that it had taken thirty whole seconds to tackle him into the kitchen before he swung the bat at me again.
I finally got smart and wrestled the bat out of his hands. We tussled around, throwing complicated punching combos and desperate kicks at each other. Maurice was looking as maniacal as he could get. I was trying to get away from him, tossing bowls and spoons and plates at him. Hebacked downashe was constantly hitin the chest.
With time speeding up without any notice, I was acting on nothing but adrenaline. Maybe a little Courvoisier, but it was mostly adrenaline. After scuffling around a bit, I glanced on the kitchen countertop and saw a knife, protruding from something that I assumed used to be a turkey. Let me tell you, that thing was burnt. I wasn't even thinking about the knife. I was just disgusted at how inedible...that thing was going to be. Ew.
When I grabbed the knife, I looked at Maurice. He looked at the knife the knife, then he looked at me with pleading eyes. That was when he FREAKED out. He started throwing all kinds of punches and kicks at me, but none of them hit me. I pressed my forearm against his neck, cutting off his air supply. His eyes bugged out of his head and he gagged a bit. Then I laughed at him for his feeble attempts at escape.
I only meant to scare him at that point. I wanted him to know that I meant business and I was not to be messed with. So I poked him. Just a little at first. When the tip of the salmonella laced blade touched him, his eyes closed. He stopped fighting and started silently praying. And I should've stopped there. But I was getting hyped up! My breathing sped up. I started sweating.
It was too much for me. I pressed the knife into his chest. Then, out of nowhere, a strange, obscene smell slapped me in the nostrils. I froze.
Looking at Maurice, I asked him, "Did you just fart?"
Looking back at me, his face split into a smile.
We just stared at each other. Then, like a volcanic eruption, we both exploded into a raucous laughter.
A loud voice called out,thomas sabo günstig, "CUT!"
Nick Johnson, the director for this action/adventure/drama feature titled, "Street Lights", called out, "What just happened here? It was going great! Did Paul fart again?"
We didn't say anything. We couldn't say anything. We were too busy laughing.
Nick continued, "Jane, get some air freshener. And some Pepto-Bismol for Fart Bastard over here. Alright people, let's get ready. Mark, Paul, take it from the top. And…ACTION!"
Looking at my bloodstained hands, I realized that killing someone is pretty easy. I never understood how simple it could be to take someone's life, but I guess I just had to get in that state of mind…it's really easy though.
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