The man blew out smoke, as he stared at the two hanging corpses.
One, male and the other, female. Their faces were black polythene. They hung on their throats.
He blew out the smoke again.
…
You hear the weeping sound.
At the corner of the house, the woman is weeping.
She had dried her tears with papers over papers, which lay crumpled around her.
Her mascara had run down her face.
Her only solace is the bottle in her hand. She can only drink and drink to wash away the tears.
…
It hit him when he was least expecting it, damn.
Whenever it hits him, he can't stop changing. Changing into something he fears will ruin his humanity.
Damn, it was always the night.
His contours ripple like a pond disturbed by a pebble.
He lies on his knees, clutching his head and sweating.
He shakes his head, he must never let it out.
They must never know.
…
While the red drips down the table, he washes his hands.
He looks back at the puddle beside the table. Ugh, he must mop it now.
He drops the washed cleaver on the tray and proceeds to clean.
He must do it quickly.
…
The urge is here! He must do it now.
He runs to the balcony. He stands atop the wall.
"I'm hornnnnnyyyyyyy!!!" he screams.
…
Oh, how much he has wanted to adorn himself with these.
Gold, diamond and rubies!
He always had but never wore them.
Now, he doesn't need to care.
He will be the most beautiful under the sky.
…