I enjoy sitting quietly in the shade of the linden tree behind my house. The wind blows softly and bird song fills the air. I like looking at the flowers I have planted in the yard. Sweet honeysuckle fills the air with its sugared scent. Stately irises sway back and forth. Comely yellow roses bathe their velvety faces in the warm sun. My heart beats steadily and I breathe a lilting tune as I think of your body buried beneath those roses. Your rotting carcass feeding their delicate beauty.
I hope you develop an agressive form of colon cancer. You will try to get treatment, and for a while it will work. You will be impotent but alive. Then it will get worse and you will die.
If we were on a plane and something terrible happened and the oxygen masks came down, I would put mine on first, like the stewardess instructs. But I would not help you with yours. I would watch you struggle and pass out. And if the plane goes down I would die happy, knowing you died first.
One day we will be standing on a cliff in the Southern region of Chiloe. A chill wind will whip my hair about my face. Our hands will be cold. The setting sun will paint the sky with fire. As you turn to look at me, your eyes filled with wonder and delight, I will reach out to you. My hands will not tremble. My breath will be steady. I will reach out to you and without hesitation I will push you over the edge. I will watch the sun drop into the sea and drown. Just like you.