A Common Spat

He lies before me, bloated, blue, and cold. He lies there, a behemoth on the ground, blood trickling down his head. I stand above him, still clenching my aluminum bat, splattered in red after my little “confrontation”. He should’ve just shut up, and this wouldn’t have happened to him. We had our words, yes, but that was just par for the course at this point in our relationship. He made himself seem all high and mighty, but that was all just an illusion. A kiss upside the cranium was what it took to bring him down, if that proves anything. I stand above him as David, with Goliath at my feet.
Six-foot-two, and God knows how much he weighs, maybe 300 pounds, mostly lard, with no hair on his head. I’m not gonna bother moving him, but I think I should get him in the dirt before he starts to reek and the cops get on my trail. Lying on the dead, brown grass, he looks shorter than he actually is. He’s horrendous, malodorous, that bitter breath on him could bring any grown man to tears. He was spiteful, egotistical, and venomous in words. He deserved it. He deserved it! 
I know good and well he was stealin’ my checks, too, haven’t earned a single dime in months. If I had the money, I’d be living a better life than this. I’m basic, dressed in denim, navy blue, from head to toe. If I had the money, I’d be somewhere other than hear, drinking only the finest of wine and chew only the finest of tobacco. God, I could use some chewin' tobacco right ‘bout now. But I gotta get him in the ground. I gotta. Before the animals come.
I put down my can of Pork Soda and start digging, mounds of dirt clumping up as I pull them out, like a sick magic trick. I whack them to break them up, and push my “friend’s” body towards the deeper sections. Every push I make nearly knocks the breath out of me, the flies are already a-buzzin'. Wouldn’t shock me if someone’s seen me already, even though I’m rather drab. If they haven’t seen me, they’ve probably smelled his corpse. I decide to just trot on by, making sure not to stain my patent shoes.
If the police come, I’ll only tell them one thing.
My name is Mud.
Category:Music
Category:Shortpasta
Category:Murder
Category:Songs
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Insanity
Category:Weird
Category:Sutinnit's Shed