Graphic curder scenes

poisoning

He sits on the couch, man spreading of course. Typical straight white male, it's kind of strange though you'd look at him and think he's the tiniest person in this earth and bright red too, like a cherry tomato. But no. He is the worst man maybe but not the tiniest.

He's a racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, ageist, classist, transphobic twit... Need I go on? I sit on the other sofa, as I would like to sit on the same one as him but there's no space.

I offer a drink and some snacks and, of course, he said yes. I go I to the kitchen and prepared tricalore salad and take the sausage rolls out of the oven.

I put a cyanide pull in one on his plate and a descrete mark on the top with a knife, you would only see it if you were looking for it.  I pass the plate onto him , making sure I look admiringly at his tattoo to feed his ever expanding ego.

I go on and on about it, how amazing it looks, how I want a similar one, and my god is it exhausting.

After about half an hour he reaches for a sausage roll... And... He bites it. I search his plate for the one with the mark to make sure it's the right one but it's still on his plate. Screaming internally, I excuse myself and make my way to the bathroom, accidentally banging my elbow on the way.

I lock the door, and sit on the toilet. I don't even need to go, I'm just sick of this twit. I sit there for fiveinutes with my back hunched over and my head in my hands. I should just have made one big roll and put it in that instead.

Once I've collected my thoughts I walk back in, and to my surprise, half of his tricalore salad is gone.

I watch in anticipation, buzzing with excitement, as he grabs for the last sausage roll- the one with the mark- my heart skips a beat as he crunches down on the flakey golden pastery. I ask if he wants more and as he says no and I sit down on the sofa smiling to myself.

I glance down at my watch every few seconds subtly just to see when the minute is up watching the seconds hand...
Tick..
Tick...
Tick..

He starts gagging, foaming at the mouth, and having little bursts of fits here and there. I put the kettle on and sit back on the sofa and watch for a few moments, grinning, filled to the brim with glee. Another imbecile gone from this world thank god.

Just to make sure he's really dead, I walk over and look at his glassy eyes, just to find them staring back up at me.