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POEtic Justice

Well, I killed him and thereís not much more I can do about that. He damn well asked for it the big galoot. I told him if he didnít stop bullying me Iíd shoot, but no he had to keep on laughing and pointing and calling me an old gimpy runt. Not any more, no sir, not any more. It was smart to have him meet me at that run down shack off the sandbar road. Everything there is closed down for winter. Nobody will even think about looking in the trunk of the car where I put him. Good thing I had my gloves on when I put the plates in the trunk. Theyíll just think itís an abandoned car. I canít believe it; I think I just committed the perfect murder, heh, heh.

I donít think I would have pulled the trigger but, he kept on laughing and calling me names like he always did. Well, he wonít be calliní me names now, heh, heh. Serves him right, he deserved it. He was so stupid to fall for my trap. He always bragged on end about his coin collection, so when I said I had some rare coins up to camp he came a runniní. The big dummy! I donít even own a camp. If the body is discovered, thereís no way the police can blame me for it. Why Iím just an old gimpy runt, heh, heh.

Story by:

DeWayn C. Marzagalli

submitted at 2:42am

24 July 2010