The knife pierced the wall in a random place. She pulled it out roughly and again stabbed blindly. The plaster was full of holes now, but she was still angry. She continued to puncture it, imagining it was Darrel’s face.
He’d hurt her. Not emotionally or mentally, but physically. He’d backhanded her. No one could do that to her. She pulled another, bigger, knife out of the drawer.
He walked in before she could run it through the wall. Her arm came back for leverage and she through it with all her might at him.
She never intended to let go.
Before he knew what hit him, he was dead. The long, silver blade had hit him in the middle of his forehead, stopping halfway. Blood shot out and fat drops came across the already punctured wall.
His body dropped and his face hit the floor. The handle was pushed and the knife went the rest of the way through his head. It poked out the back, a few pieces sticking to it.
Karma’s a bitch.
END
Author notes
Yah, uh...I was really angry when I wrote it. After punching a few meaningless objects, I calmed down.
What the hell is wrong with it?
Comments
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Wow. I thought you were joking when you said you liked gore and stuff. I thought wrong
Nice though (:
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Nope. No kidding. You haven't read any of my poetry either... 
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