New Rules New Game

1) Exercise your Killer Instinct by submitting your VERY BEST

poem or story to

no bio needed, you retain the copyright.

2) Be Creative.

You will be judged by ME, then by your fellow killers.

3) If you're Good, you will make THE HIT LIST.

If you're not, don't expect any Remorse.

Good Luck.

Nov 19, 2010

Good Morning

by Brad Burjan

Eddie got dressed and loaded his gun at the foot of the bed, like he always on days like these. He wasn’t looking forward to this one. His head was pounding. It couldn’t of been the booze last night, he thought to himself. He only had a few drink with his boss and some of the guys. He knew what it was. He got these headaches on assignments like these, which were very few. He tried to remember the name who the last assignment was, that he liked. He couldn’t remember.

Hell, he liked his target that he was going to meet today. He went to highshool with him, and was even at the guys wedding. But a job’s a job.

As he was loading a few bullets to the chamber, Eddie thought about the time in high school, when his target slipped a hit of LSD in Mr. Shirley’s coffee. Eddie chuckled to himself.

Walking downstairs, Eddie could smell his wife at work. This certainly did not help his migraine. She’d been baking cookies since the time he woke up. He hated the smell of her cookies, day in and day out, especially around the holidays. And well, it was only six more days till Christmas. Cookies being baked for her customers, and cookies being baked for the family. Plus, like everyone else, she was always stressed this time of year. Eddie was even stressed about his job for the day.

For the past 20 years, the smell of his wife’s cookies made him nauseous. Not really one for sweets, yet, he’d oblige his wife’s wishes, and always taste one, when she offered him, every morning. This morning, Eddie just wouldn’t be able to eat one.

Eddie pulled a coffee mug from the kitchen cabinet, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Here Eddie, try one of these.” She slipped a peanut butter cookie into his hand, and went back to the mixing bowl.

“I’m not hungry.” Eddie mumbled.

“Ohh, come on Eddie. I want to know what you think. I varied the recipe just a bit.”

“No. I said I wasn’t hungry.” His voiced raised.

His wife stopped mixing for just a moment. Stared all the way through the batter, into the bottom of the bowel, then she continued.

“What’s wrong, Eddie.”


Eddie poured some milk in his coffee and took a careful sip. He watched his wife crush some peanuts, with the flat side a chef’s knife. He could tell she was stressed just by the way she was gripping her tool. He couldn’t finish his coffee, the chaos that his wife was making in the kitchen was just too much for him, not today.

“Try this Eddie, please.”

“NO.” he shouted. “Can’t you goddamn take the hint, I don’t want your cookies, I’ve never liked your cookies.” He couldn’t contain himself, not anymore. No going back now, he thought to himself.

“For the past 20 goddamn years, I’ve had more cookies, than fucking Santa Claus.” He let loose. “No more. Not now. Not ever.” His wife crushed the last peanut and turned to face him.

“You’ve been lying to me all these years?” She said calmly.


The next thing Eddies wife knew, was that Eddie was sprawled motionless on the white linoleum floor, with blood all over his face. She was amazed just how deep a chef’s knife could be pushed into her husbands eye. The oven timer went off.


  1. In the eye? Ouch! The timer is a great touch too, and everyone thinks he's going to kill the guy from high school, but then you think he's going to off his wife - but the wife kills HIM!

    You know, hell hath no fury . . . . Always placate the woman.

  2. You should really include a neck brace with this whiplash inducing twist. Cool.