MicroHorror

His tiny, cranberry-like eyes gazed in wonderment at the single droplet of blood perched precariously on the tip of his bowie knife.

“Do you see that?” He switched his line of sight briefly to the girl.

“Mmmmmmrgh… mmmmrrrrrgh!!” she responded from beneath the eloquently placed duct tape.

“It’s like a metaphor for life, don’t you think? You see, the droplet rests at the apex of its existence. At any moment it will inevitably move from its finely balanced position and either roll down the hilt of the knife and continue on, joining with the knife in its dynamic activities or it will roll off the tip of the blade completely and fall into the dirt below thus ending its existence forever. You see?”

“MMMRRRGH!!!” she replied with apparent distaste.

“Please. Please, allow me.” He spoke through his yellowed and withering lips, spittle crossing the short distance between their faces and landing on her waxy pale cheeks. He tore the tape from her face in one quick motion.

“You sick, sick, sick mother fucker. Do you torture ALL of your victims with unending hours of prose and hack philosophy before you do away with them? Or is there something you think you see in me which gives you the impression that I actually give a rat’s ass what you say? Fuck! Get it over with already before I throw myself down on your blade just to end my misery.”