The Breath of Hell

“He was a despicable man. His breath was smelly and hot. Everyone who knew him despised him. It wasn't his appearance that people despised. His appearance was odd, I admit. Some might find his appearance offensive but most didn't. At the least his looks were appalling, short, round, balding and vulgar. He was middle-aged, five foot six inches tall, three hundred pounds, a chest like a woman, balding with black died tufts  of hair on the sides above his elephantine  ears, his nose was bulbous and his breath  was odorous. Body odors were a problem but not the worst problem. The worst odor was his breath. It was hot and smelly. The smell was a mixture of pungent musk and rotting fruit. It was hot breath, hell hot, but I already mentioned that, didn’t I. No one  ever had as hot and smelly breath as this guy.” 1

All his employees had offered him breath mints and such but he always declined. We were all disgusted by his refusal to do anything about this extreme case of halitosis. He would quietly walk up behind you and breath out, asthmatic like, wheezes of his hot, smelly breath upon the back of  your neck. It was hot breath, hell hot, but I said that. Everyone hated him doing this. I thought about quitting my job but needed the money, for bills. The other employees and I would jokingly discuss ways we could  get rid of Mr. Halitosis, that's what we nicknamed him. His breath stank and was so hot but  I’ve said that before. 2

One day our joking tuned into the macabre. Several people began talking about ways to do away with Mr. Halitosis. They talked of revenge, torture, and even murder. Next thing I knew they were all laughing. The thoughts were firmly planted in my mind. That's all I could think about. How could I do it, when, and where would it be done? Every time he came up behind me and breathed  his breath on me, I thought about his death a  little harder. How would I be rid of him? His breath was so hot. Have I mentioned how hot his breath was, yet? 3

I finally made a plan for disposing of Mr. Halitosis. My plan  would take two or three months of practice to accomplish the plan, properly. Every night, I went to his house. While there, I would break into his house and spend ten minutes inside. The whole ten minutes inside all I could think about was being rid of that stinky hot breath. It was  so hot, I know that's been said. "How hot was it," I asked myself,  laughingly? Inside the house, I went through the steps I would take when it became necessary to kill him. I went to the kitchen, got a large carving knife from the drawer and quietly walk up the carpeted stairs. While going up the stairs, I thought about how he would sneak up on us at work. At the top of the stairs I would shine my flashlight on the walls and doors. My hope was that he would come out of his bedroom. That way, it could be made to look like a burglary, that had gone  bad. After practicing my plan I'd go home and sleep well.4

At work each day I amused myself with thoughts of the night before. He came up behind me again. I felt his stinky, hot breath on my neck and decided to kill him that night.  His  breath was  intolerable, it was so hot, I've said it again. This wasn't another  practice run but the real thing. I did  everything just as I planned. This night when I reached the top of the stairs his bedroom door was open. I looked in his room.I saw a light on, he was in bed. The time had come, death will be quick. Standing by his bed I plunged the knife deep into his chest. A large gush of air rushed from his lungs. It was stinky and hot like his breath. I was sickened by the heat and smell. This would be the last time anyone would have to smell that odor or feel that heat. It was so  very hot.  This is a well-known fact,  how hot it was. I cut his lungs out and wrapped them in his bed sheet. The deed was done, it was over, no more unbearable breath would come from him.5

Back at work, people wondered why he wasn't at work. I went along with them, acting like I didn't know why he didn’t come to work either. Everyone wondered but no one cared. As I went back to my desk, I smelled a familiar smell. Back at my desk I began typing when I felt this hot breath on my neck. "It couldn't be, he was dead, I killed him," I thought. Turning around I saw a fellow worker, laughing. His breath was smelly and hot. He walked away and I followed him. "What kind of sick joke are you playing" I shouted at him. He turned toward me and asked me what I was talking about.  All the workers looked at me and they were smirking. Walking back to my desk I could smell that pungent hot breath, everywhere. It was driving me crazy6

I went home early that day, thought I was losing my mind. My stomach was growling from hunger, so I stopped for a meal. Once in the restaurant the maitre-d  seated me. I noticed his breath was smelly  and hot. It was very hot.  I’m telling you as a fact. I felt like I was losing my mind. "Has there been a halitosis epidemic," I said to myself? "Was this reality, or a figment of my imagination due to guilt," were my thoughts? When I ordered my meal, the waitress had the same breath too. Thinking about these halitosis humans  I felt it was impossible and absurd that all these people could have the same kind of bad breath. After an hour in the restaurant I needed to go home. 7

Home was a dull place after spending every night, for the last two months, planning my attack. But it was where my heart was and talking a-loud, "his lungs." I hid his lungs behind the central air unit. No one would ever look in that spot. I noticed there was a foul,  odorous smell in my house. Although the thermostat was set on seventy degrees, it was unbelievably hot. The smell and heat were coming through my central air vents. "The lungs are responsible,"  mumbling to myself. I convinced myself that the lungs needed to be buried. Taking the lungs from behind  the central unit I  buried  them under a tree, in my backyard. 8

As I went back inside, the wind began  blowing harshly. I went to bed, hoping for a good night rest. The wind became stronger and hotter. It felt as if it was blowing on my neck. The smell, the heat they were both becoming totally intolerable. About  three in the morning someone knocked on my front door. I opened the door to see two policemen standing on my porch. They asked me to come to the police station, with them. I invited them inside while I got dressed. "Sorry about the heat and smell in here," I said. With a quizzical look on their faces they replied, "what smell and what heat." "In fact it's unseasonably cool for this time of year," they said. I thought they were joking but saw they were serious. They continued talking, mostly small talk, but every word from their mouth sounded like they were forced out by a rush of air. It was the same sound as the gush of air, I heard, when I stabbed Mr. Halitosis. "I'm ready to go," as I headed outside. 9

At the police station, I was questioned about my boss' death. The place was smelly and hot.  I’m telling you it was hot. They didn't believe  my story so I was put in a holding cell. The cell was more smelly and hot. I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck. It was driving me mad. I was so preoccupied with this hot breath that I didn't  notice the number of people that was paraded by my cell. "He never confessed to  the murder," said one of the  detectives. "Does he talk to himself all the time," someone asked? The officer said, "he mumbles to himself, mostly." "What does he say?" The detective responded by saying that I repeatedly said, "quit breathing your stinky, hot breath on me. It's  so hot, hell hot. If I said it once I've said it a dozen times." Sometimes, they say, I run and grab the cell bars and ask the officers if they smell the odorous smell.” 10

I know I'm not crazy, although I think the smell and heat will get to me. "It's so hot in here, my boss' breath was hot like this," I said to all those standing by my cell starring at me. "Whom is he talking to," whispered an officer? "Himself, I guess, there hasn't been anyone in here, since he was brought in, more than ten years ago" replied the custodian. "Have I told you how hot it gets in here," I asked the crowd outside my cell? The custodian continued sweeping the floor.                        11

Terry L. Sledge12

07/01/200213