MicroHorror

The knife under the mattress wasn’t easing Marcy’s labor pains, despite the old wives’ tale that suggested it should help. And it wasn’t helping that the moron who had gotten her into this predicament to begin with was blowing beer breath in her face.

“C’mon, baby, push!” Clarence huffed. Under the beer, Marcy thought she could smell pastrami.

“Enough!” Marcy yelled. She reached under the mattress, grabbed the knife and stabbed Clarence through the heart. He fell dead to the floor. Marcy’s labor pains persisted but Clarence’s nasty breath was gone. The knife had been good for something, after all.