Homicidal Thoughts

Homicidal Thoughts by J.C. Combs

axerI used to admire you. As I walked past every day, quickly glancing your direction, I could smell your pleasant scent wafting through the air. I also noticed your curves and how you were the quiet type, never making even a sound. But all that changed, didn’t it?

I used to think it was his fault. He was attracted to you because of your beauty. How could I fault that, you had no choice in the matter.

I remember the first time I thought about splitting you open with an axe. I was on my route and, as always, anticipated seeing you. As I neared, I made out a conversation you were having with some dirty, rotten bastard. You were talking sweet with him. But as I listened closer I realized you were just being polite and it was really that creep, the horror of a man, who was making all the moves. He wouldn’t quit. I closed my eyes as I passed and a vision of an axe appeared in my mind’s eye.  I remember thinking, almost out loud, ‘but it isn’t your fault I know!  Why then do I fantasize about killing you in the worst way?’

As days turned into weeks, as the same foul man persisted in visiting you, I realized the truth. The only way to fix the problem was to take that axe and chop you into little pieces.

The very next day as I was leaving to carry out the sinister plan, I put on the trench coat tucked away in my closet, which I’d been dying to wear since the late 80s and carried the axe underneath. I looked like I was about to pull out a weapon, but I didn’t care! No one was going to stop me. You might wonder, what about the bastard? Well he had it coming too. Would he be there, playing her with those sick, disgusting, egregiously sappy lines? I hoped so.

As I entered the lobby, my eyes reflected one thing, murder. Sure enough, the scoundrel, the cad, was putting the syrup on with large strokes. I think it was “Piano Man,”  “Feelings,” or “Chariots of Fire,” I can’t remember, everything was a blur. I only recall the continual horror of  his Satanic left hand rolling from C to E to G to the C and back and back and back! “You’re fucking killing it with sugar!” I wailed as I pulled out the axe and with one furious swing chopped the swine’s head off. As his head lay spinning atop the once beautiful grand piano, I promptly started the work I came to finish. Starting with the legs, “crack, boom, wham,” THUD.

She now had no legs, but for once she made the most beautiful music. Overtones intertwining, screaming, yelling. Pain! I looked around and saw people running for every exit.

That’s the problem with people, they hear the real beauty, the innermost articulation of our deepest fears and regrets, and they run for the exits. Well the next time you try that, just remember who might be standing right outside the door!

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