My mother, God rest her chain smoking soul, told me I had a face to break

hearts with. I cut hers out when I was six years old with a steak knife from the

kitchen. It was the kind with the black handle and finger grips, the fact that it was

good German steal aided in how well it sliced her open I'm sure.

They took my father away the next day, something I still find saddening. I had

nothing against the man.

Its three AM and I still can't seem to get to sleep. Maybe it’s the new guy at

work that's keeping me up. His little snotty brown nosing voice always sends my

nerves on edge. I keep seeing my fingers around his tiny neck or him on his knees

with barrel of my .22 level with that mole in the center of his forehead.

Bullzeye

I've got to take a leak, I've been laying here for six hours and my bladder wants

to say hello. I flip on the light in the bathroom and for a moment I'm blind. It’s stark

white and clean, surgical a member of the cleaning crew I hired to scrub the place

twice a week once said. I finish tapping a kidney or two then stare at my reflection

in the polished mirror. I can see what my mother was talking about all those years

ago. With high check bones, a proud chin, green bedroom eyes and that bronze

complexion models cook under the sun for, I can sure see it.

A creak of brass hinges sounds beneath me and I look down just in time to see

blackened scissors bite off the family jewels. Its strange but the pain does not hit

me right away, I just drop back. The blood is warm down my legs and between my

fingers. I see my mother's face staring back at me from the darkness of the little

cabinet under the sink. Her face smiles warmly before those blades open me up

again.