“May you live as long as you want, and never want as long as you live.” Beatrice read out loud, more to hear her the sound of her voice, than to appreciate the meaning of the phrase. Her first coffee of the day, black, no sugar, sat at her left elbow. Steam rose languidly from within a chipped mug, the phrase on the front of it said ‘World’s Best Kisser’.
Placing the card face down onto the scruffy wooden kitchen table, the names of well wishers within ignored, she glared at her scrawny secretary, Mike?
“I want everything, soul’s of filth and lint included.” Beatrice quietly said, with a voice devoid of emotion. “Who did this? You?”
“Yes Ma’am.” he said, too afraid to meet the fierce eye that looked through him, leading him to examined his shoes minutely.
Beatrice’s left hand, seemingly with a life of its own, disappeared into her jacket, and returned into sight swiftly. A syringe filled it, her thumb nail flicked the cap from the needle, and in a precise, effortless stroke, she plunged it into the young aides chest, depressing the plunger in the same motion, leaving the syringe to dangle from his left upper chest as she let go of it.
“That is cholera, and you are free to pack up your things and go. Don’t return.”
“Yes Ma’am.” was all he said as he stood and left, yet to fully apprehend what she had done to him, beyond sacking him.
Beatrice was drunk by lunch.
Mike was dead by dinner.
Click the picture. The Cruel Sea and Cocaine lurks within.
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