Where all A's have their story
Written By Kathryn J Barrow
I grasped my weapon with a blood-soaked hand. Smooth, thick, fog danced before me in the nights' sky, luring me to beg for a vision through its cover. But I only smiled at its attempt. In Fact, I found it quite apt for the present situation I found myself in, as I carried a sack over my shoulder toward the smokehouse on Maine street. Passers-by had an objective, like me, so their eyes weren’t following the trail of blood which was seeping through the cloth to the floor.
Some would say I’d committed an abominable act. Is it so beastly when I’d offered them a quick death? I think not. I’d agree, a little, at how nauseating one might get when I’d completed the task of severing each limb to allow for easier travel to its destination. It can be quite repulsive dealing with the entrails, but I’d hazard a guess my enjoyment of it would cause one to feel so disgusted by my action it would be classed as abominable. But they’d not known what had occurred before.
I’m not restricted to believing this sleazebag deserved it. My ability to claw out the despicable humans of this earth is desirable. In any case, how we define the word abominable can differ from one subject to the next, wouldn’t you agree?
For example, some people would consider this weather to be abominable. Having to walk alone, in the reduced visibility probably causes many to fear for their safety. I sighed at the prospect of such a word, how the severity of its meaning can be obscured by such an irrelevant subject as I saw the Smoke House in view.
Soon, those that offered this blanket for my travels an obnoxious description will revel in the feel of their full bellies, joyous in cheap, hot meat they consumed, with not a care, nor a thought to the extent abdominal can stretch.