Bat... head... smash
Bat... head... smash
Bat... head... smash
He heaved the bat above his head, and he swung down with his might.
Smash
More blood splattered on his face and across his body.
His hands did not relent. The thoughts in his head did not relent. They, his two hands and the bat, were like a moment frozen in time repeating itself, the bat went up and came swing down.
Smash
No tears rolled out his eyes. No hisses and grunt of pain from his breath was heard. His eyes did not pop out, and neither were they swollen red. No beads of sweat were rolling off his face. His face was not twisted in an expression of rage. Neither was there a show of panic. Blank is the best way to describe his face. No furrows or burrows on his skin. His eye balls did not swirl around wildly in their sockets, instead it remained still and straight. His body did not shiver and jerk with emotion, it was steady as a rock.
He looked down. She was there. Not withering, not shivering, not moving, just still. She was long dead before these words were typed and this scene was told.
Yet the thoughts in his head never stopped and just repeat in a loop.
Bat... head... smash
Bat... head... smash
Bat... head... smash
Her skull was caved in. Gooey brain matter dribbled and squirted out of her smashed head. Her face was pressed against the ground, and if someone were to turn it upward, they would find scraped skin, raw exposed pink-red flesh,splintered bones and a blasted nose with a crushed cartilage. Not a pretty site in entirety. A pool of blood lay spread across the ground. His brown canvas shoes were already soaked and painted in her red blood. His face, his clothes was smeared with blood and brain matter.
“Whore!”, he screamed at her as he stopped his feet and for a second a hint of rage was exposed on his face.
The bat slipped from his hand and he let it fall to ground. He walked away from there, from the kitchen and went to the living. Slowly, he sat on the couch. He felt his emotion try to burst out, like an overflow at a dam, he kept it in check.
His hand grabbed the remote and his thumb jabbed the on button. Some comedy show was going on and he sat there staring at the screen. Just like he was sitting here an hour ago, waiting for her, his wife, to come back from her sex club.
Bat... head... smash
Bat... head... smash
He heaved the bat above his head, and he swung down with his might.
Smash
More blood splattered on his face and across his body.
His hands did not relent. The thoughts in his head did not relent. They, his two hands and the bat, were like a moment frozen in time repeating itself, the bat went up and came swing down.
Smash
No tears rolled out his eyes. No hisses and grunt of pain from his breath was heard. His eyes did not pop out, and neither were they swollen red. No beads of sweat were rolling off his face. His face was not twisted in an expression of rage. Neither was there a show of panic. Blank is the best way to describe his face. No furrows or burrows on his skin. His eye balls did not swirl around wildly in their sockets, instead it remained still and straight. His body did not shiver and jerk with emotion, it was steady as a rock.
He looked down. She was there. Not withering, not shivering, not moving, just still. She was long dead before these words were typed and this scene was told.
Yet the thoughts in his head never stopped and just repeat in a loop.
Bat... head... smash
Bat... head... smash
Bat... head... smash
Her skull was caved in. Gooey brain matter dribbled and squirted out of her smashed head. Her face was pressed against the ground, and if someone were to turn it upward, they would find scraped skin, raw exposed pink-red flesh,splintered bones and a blasted nose with a crushed cartilage. Not a pretty site in entirety. A pool of blood lay spread across the ground. His brown canvas shoes were already soaked and painted in her red blood. His face, his clothes was smeared with blood and brain matter.
“Whore!”, he screamed at her as he stopped his feet and for a second a hint of rage was exposed on his face.
The bat slipped from his hand and he let it fall to ground. He walked away from there, from the kitchen and went to the living. Slowly, he sat on the couch. He felt his emotion try to burst out, like an overflow at a dam, he kept it in check.
His hand grabbed the remote and his thumb jabbed the on button. Some comedy show was going on and he sat there staring at the screen. Just like he was sitting here an hour ago, waiting for her, his wife, to come back from her sex club.
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