Post by QueenFoxy on Mar 11, 2018 12:24:52 GMT -6
Because of His Laugh
I have to admit, at first it was exciting, somewhat intoxicating, and the sex – unbelievable. But now, there is something about him that I can’t stand… yes, I hate him! Suddenly there is a knock on the front door. Lifting my head off the pillow, I glance at the alarm clock. Who could that be at two in the morning?
There is the knock again. I quietly get out of bed and walk to the other room across the hallway. I peek through the window blinds, toward the front yard to an empty cold sidewalk and a flickering street light. I see no one. I walk out of the room, scratching my head, when I hear the same knock, but this time it is coming from the backyard, against my sliding door. I run to my bedroom and glare out the window.
There is a man standing on my porch, looking right at me. The whiteness from his eyes, piercing through his mask, gives me chills down my back. I step away, my palms now moist, pushing myself away from the window. I stumble, but remember I have my cell phone. I reach around the nightstand. Where is it? I search frantically. There it is! I snatch the phone, pulling it toward my face, when I hear the sliding door being forced open. I stand up, realizing my phone is dead.
I run around my bed to the sudden sound of squeaky floorboards. Oh my God! I drop my phone and rush out the bedroom, but there he is, standing in the middle of the hall. His glaring white goalie mask lights up the hallway. I move back, my mouth open and legs shaking. He steps forward with a silver crowbar in his hand.
“Please, get out,” I say.
Once again, he steps forward.
“You’re going to die,” he replies.
My stomach rumbles
“Get out,” I say.
“No.”
As the man lifts the crowbar over his head, I feel warmth in my underwear.
“Please don’t do this. Get out of my house,” I beg.
He then pulls off his mask while reaching for the light switch. The lights go on.
“Now that was hilarious,” he says.
“Walter, is that you?” I ask.
“Look at yourself.” He points to my underwear. “I can’t believe you pissed yourself.”
I look down.
“Walter, why did you do this to me?” I ask.
“You are the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
My eyes become wet as Walter, my boyfriend, falls to the floor. He starts to laugh uncontrollably.
“I have a new nickname for you,” he says. “Piss Girl, yeah, your name is now Piss Girl.” He continues to laugh. “I’m going to tell everyone about you, Piss Girl.” He rolls over and drops the crowbar. “You should see the look on your face.” His laughter echoes through the hallway while he slaps his hand on the hard wooden floor.
I look at myself shamefully, but then I realize why I hate him. It is his laugh…yes, his loud convulsive laughter.
“Ha, ha, ha,” he shouts.
“Stop, please.”
“Funny, ha-ha,” he continues.
As I stare at him, there is something inside me that I have never felt before. I am timid no more but enraged.
“Ha,” he hollers, pointing his finger at me.
“Stop!”
“Hahaha,” he continues.
“I am serious.”
“Ha…ha,” he mocks.
Without hesitation, I jump at him, kicking him right under his chin.
“Ow,” he moans.
Realizing what I just did, I move away, but he grabs my leg, pulling me to the floor.
“Now you’re going to Screwing get it,” he says.
I lean against the wall as he stands up.
“Get out of my house!” I yell.
As he struggles to unbuckle his belt, I feel the crowbar underneath my leg. I look up, and Walter doesn’t look like my boyfriend anymore. He reaches for me, and with one swift move, I grab the crowbar and swing it at him. The impact from the steel on his face forces him against the wall. As he drops to the floor, I see his goalie mask next to the bedroom door. I stand up, walk over and pick it up, thinking how scary it is for someone to wear such a thing. I then put it on.
“Help,” Walter mumbles.
His nose is busted open as blood runs down his face.
“Please, I was just messing around,” he cries.
“No you weren’t.”
“Jane, please,” he adds. “Call an ambulance, please.”
At that moment, I have neither remorse nor sympathy for Walter. With crowbar in hand, I stand right over him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Now I’ll never hear your hideous laugh again, you idiot!”
“Please… stop.”
I grip the end of the crowbar, lift it into the air and strike his face repeatedly until he is dead. ~
The End
I have to admit, at first it was exciting, somewhat intoxicating, and the sex – unbelievable. But now, there is something about him that I can’t stand… yes, I hate him! Suddenly there is a knock on the front door. Lifting my head off the pillow, I glance at the alarm clock. Who could that be at two in the morning?
There is the knock again. I quietly get out of bed and walk to the other room across the hallway. I peek through the window blinds, toward the front yard to an empty cold sidewalk and a flickering street light. I see no one. I walk out of the room, scratching my head, when I hear the same knock, but this time it is coming from the backyard, against my sliding door. I run to my bedroom and glare out the window.
There is a man standing on my porch, looking right at me. The whiteness from his eyes, piercing through his mask, gives me chills down my back. I step away, my palms now moist, pushing myself away from the window. I stumble, but remember I have my cell phone. I reach around the nightstand. Where is it? I search frantically. There it is! I snatch the phone, pulling it toward my face, when I hear the sliding door being forced open. I stand up, realizing my phone is dead.
I run around my bed to the sudden sound of squeaky floorboards. Oh my God! I drop my phone and rush out the bedroom, but there he is, standing in the middle of the hall. His glaring white goalie mask lights up the hallway. I move back, my mouth open and legs shaking. He steps forward with a silver crowbar in his hand.
“Please, get out,” I say.
Once again, he steps forward.
“You’re going to die,” he replies.
My stomach rumbles
“Get out,” I say.
“No.”
As the man lifts the crowbar over his head, I feel warmth in my underwear.
“Please don’t do this. Get out of my house,” I beg.
He then pulls off his mask while reaching for the light switch. The lights go on.
“Now that was hilarious,” he says.
“Walter, is that you?” I ask.
“Look at yourself.” He points to my underwear. “I can’t believe you pissed yourself.”
I look down.
“Walter, why did you do this to me?” I ask.
“You are the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
My eyes become wet as Walter, my boyfriend, falls to the floor. He starts to laugh uncontrollably.
“I have a new nickname for you,” he says. “Piss Girl, yeah, your name is now Piss Girl.” He continues to laugh. “I’m going to tell everyone about you, Piss Girl.” He rolls over and drops the crowbar. “You should see the look on your face.” His laughter echoes through the hallway while he slaps his hand on the hard wooden floor.
I look at myself shamefully, but then I realize why I hate him. It is his laugh…yes, his loud convulsive laughter.
“Ha, ha, ha,” he shouts.
“Stop, please.”
“Funny, ha-ha,” he continues.
As I stare at him, there is something inside me that I have never felt before. I am timid no more but enraged.
“Ha,” he hollers, pointing his finger at me.
“Stop!”
“Hahaha,” he continues.
“I am serious.”
“Ha…ha,” he mocks.
Without hesitation, I jump at him, kicking him right under his chin.
“Ow,” he moans.
Realizing what I just did, I move away, but he grabs my leg, pulling me to the floor.
“Now you’re going to Screwing get it,” he says.
I lean against the wall as he stands up.
“Get out of my house!” I yell.
As he struggles to unbuckle his belt, I feel the crowbar underneath my leg. I look up, and Walter doesn’t look like my boyfriend anymore. He reaches for me, and with one swift move, I grab the crowbar and swing it at him. The impact from the steel on his face forces him against the wall. As he drops to the floor, I see his goalie mask next to the bedroom door. I stand up, walk over and pick it up, thinking how scary it is for someone to wear such a thing. I then put it on.
“Help,” Walter mumbles.
His nose is busted open as blood runs down his face.
“Please, I was just messing around,” he cries.
“No you weren’t.”
“Jane, please,” he adds. “Call an ambulance, please.”
At that moment, I have neither remorse nor sympathy for Walter. With crowbar in hand, I stand right over him.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Now I’ll never hear your hideous laugh again, you idiot!”
“Please… stop.”
I grip the end of the crowbar, lift it into the air and strike his face repeatedly until he is dead. ~
The End
