Tales from the Kitchen

The kitchen had a single fluorescent bulb that would flicker every once in a while. The floor was covered with linoleum that was so old that no matter how clean it was it always looked dirty. The only items on the formica counter was a toaster and a peculator. The percolator was in use.

Standing at the counter was the woman of the house. She was wearing an apron over her bathrobe and was making biscuits. She had once been semi attractive but age and a hard life were showing their signs. She looked neither happy nor sad, just complacent.

The man sitting at the circular table in the middle of the kitchen was drumming his fingers. His face had the obvious weathering of a person who worked outdoors. A couple of times he looked up at the woman and opened his mouth to speak, but then would close his mouth and look down to study his drumming fingers. A look of determination crossed his as he stopped drumming. He placed both hands flat on the table and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a sound his head rolled off his neck and fell to the floor. His body slumped on the table and bled.

The woman heard the noise and looked over her shoulder to see the cause. She saw the lifeless body slumped and bleeding on the table and thought, 'that'll be a bitch to clean.'