death in suburbia
the sadist who lives behind me must die. he must die a horrid and wretched death. something involving a great deal of pain. something prolonged and twisted. i would be most pleased to be the administrator of said death. he is still
working on that monstrosity of a house of his. seriously, this house is like some living, breathing thing. it's enormous. way too big for this neighborhood. and he's building on. and building and building and building. already the house reaches the very edge of his property. this is perhaps my only consolation in the whole thing. if he reaches the point where his walls are touching the fence surrounding his property, where else has he to go? why, up of course. though i'm sure it's easily already 3 stories high. i don't think that matters to him, however. and the thing i really
don't understand is that he lives there alone. he's divorced, (probably because his wife couldn't take the constant additions) he has one child, but that child is grown and out torturing people in his own neighborhood.
i do see the sadist's mother there occasionally. and by "see" i mean "sense". this is because i'm fairly certain she is the walking undead. her dark yellow & leathery flesh hangs from her body. you can see her skull from under thinning hair. when she smiles (which is rare) the blood in my veins runs cold and i am faced with a sudden urge to cross myself. and yet she still finds it within her to wear short mini-skirts and low cut blouses. mine eyes have seen the gory of her strikingly torpid form. ech.
he's a dentist. his office is downtown, next to mine. however, it's NEVER open. ever. i've yet to see it open. so i'm not sure how he makes the money to do all these wunnerful renovations. i do occasionally see his mother going in and out of the front door of his office with a number of packages. big packages. so you can bet that my over-active imagination has an explanation at the ready. my theory is that he's either: A) running an illegal organ trade B) dealing various and sundry mind bending drugs; of which both he and his corpse-like mother partake or C) taking his victims to his office in the dark of night, killing them with his dental burs and drill bits and chopping their bodies into itty bitty pieces and stuffing them in boxes, which his norman-bates-come-lately mother then picks up and distributes to the zombies residing in that obscenely heinous house of his for their weekly rations. personally, i'm going with C. that or the unmentioned D) all of the above.
at any rate, waking before eight in the morning to the sound of his hammer pounding away at the latest project is not my favorite way to awaken. and if i could you know i would but no one will let me try. plus, i'm afraid he'll take one look at me and decide i need a "root canal". IF
you get my drift...>wink< >wink< >nudge< >nudge<.
posted by kimberley at 1:06 PM