I like Oranges with the seeds - Fiction
On Tuesday, Margaret told me she liked the little oranges with the seeds better than the ones I bought. I hated her for that.
This was not the first time she was doing something of this sort. It had to stop. It was then that I decided to kill her. I am not the one who can handle violence so I figured I'd just have to poison her.
I went to great lengths researching natural compounds that can cause heart malfunctioning as I knew she had heart problems and that would be the easiest way to get rid off her without any suspicion.
I came across this naturally occurring poison that can be found in rare mushrooms but luckily the forest nearby seemed to have these.
The next few weeks were spent on formulating a plan and extracting the poison from the mushroom.
They were all the same, I decided. Whether I killed her or she died of natural causes, it was all the same as death was eventual. So for argument sake, you could say that what I was going to do did not really matter.
I had it all planned out. I would invite her over the weekend. She would keep yapping about her "achievements" from the past week. I will excuse myself go to the kitchen to get her something to eat, I would slip in the poison and that would be it.
As per my research, the poison would gradually weaken all the cells for the next 12 hours before it starts its work.
She would be elsewhere by then and that would be it.
Ta Ta bye bye forever.
I called her and invited her for dinner on saturday night.
I chuckled thinking about how clever I was.
It was the lemon sherbet that melted all over the counter that brought it all to an end. Everything was going smoothly until then.
She had come over. I had some small talk till she took over going into a full swing talking about herself and how the world was cruel to her. I went to kitchen to get the frozen lemon sherbet with the poison and brought it to her. She took a sip and seemed to want something to eat.
I had offered her to get a piece of pie but she insisted on taking it herself. She took the sherbet along with her and kept it next to the boiling kettle while she stood a chair to reach one of the highest shelf. She stumbled dropping a container onto the kettle which then made the sherbet melt all over the counter and drip to the floor.
Talk about luck. Or the lack of it.
She was in the kitchen when an idea struck me. I saw her car in the garage and then thought to myself "Brakes fail all the time, don't they?"