By Scott L Vannatter
October 4, 2012
Gayland looked at the kitchen: globe lighting, shelf of wine bottles, spotless.
Then he looked at the body on the floor: Arms akimbo, blood spattered across her clothing and face, butcher knife protruding from her chest. The entire scene looked like something from a bad movie set. He pulled at his beard and stomped his foot.
“I don’t like the way it looks,” he muttered to all around him. They looked at their shoes hoping it wasn’t their fault.
He grabbed the corpse by the arm and pulled.
“Get up, Sweetheart. Go back to makeup and have them try again.”