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About the twelfth time he stabbed
his now-dead girlfriend Gwen, Gary wondered at what point he should
stop. It had to be a special number, a number that would have meaning
to him. Let's see, he mused, continuing to stab Gwen routinely, his
anger spent after the first four or five killing jabs. Gwen was twenty,
so that could be an appropriate number; oops, too late, up to
twenty-two already. How about twenty-six, for October 26, the day they
first met. No, too corny, Gary decided. Maybe twenty-nine, for November
29, the day he saw her having lunch with James, the handsome guy in her
office. Laughing and touching his arm like intimate friends. Gary knew
how to deal with her duplicitous betrayal. How could she? He loved Gwen
completely, totally, compulsively. And this was how she treated his
all-consuming devotion. Passed twenty-nine now and heading towards
thirty-three. Then the right number occurred to Gary. With a smile, he
hacked seven more savage wounds and stopped. Forty. Twice Gwen's age,
which represented her two-faced nature. Perfect. Time to clean up and
head home for some television maybe. Gary remembered Babe was on cable tonight. |
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