sarah

Sarah

I’ve recently discovered that it doesn’t matter how much you wish death upon someone, some bastards just won’t die. Your mind swells with contempt. Their nattering, their high pitched spawn-of-the devil voice fucks with your mind. You wait daily for the thunderbolt from god to smite them. You’ve never even had a reason to use the word ‘smite’ before you met that stupid girl.

You’d swear that she is the human incarnation of sin.

You don’t want to hear who she fucked the night before. Who she hates, or who she loves. Nonetheless, you’ll hear, countless times, of how some little rich boy paid for her and her satanic brood to frolic on some beach. And even if you don’t want to, even if you desperately don’t want to see how the dress that daddy bought for her looks on her slightly chunky body, she will show you. The money covers the ugly, but only just.

She’s all straightened hair and fancy shit. It’s the shoes that bother you the most though. Those god damned shoes that you can’t afford, but she has. You’ve spent you’re last god damned cent on textbooks and goon and this dopey tart prances up the hallway in shoes you want.

With the shoes in mind you formulate a plan.

1. Take all her pretty clothes out of her cupboard and replace them with oiled overalls.
2. Poison her chombord.
3. Lock her in a darkened room (preferably her own) with only the chombord to escape the boredom.
4. Await her death.

You’ve had plenty of spare time on your hands to plot her demise.

There is however an alternate plan for you to consider.

Pinch the bitch’s shoes.