The man sat hunched against the stern of the boat, legs bent, one wrist resting on his knees. The other hand scratched at the days' old stubble on his cheeks. The nails on both hands were cracked and dirty. God, what he wouldn't give for a razor. His eyes glistened with hate as he muttered to himself. "Bitch. Filthy, stinking bitch."
A faint breeze carrying the smell of fish from the hold made his stomach roil. He shoved himself to his feet and stumbled across the filthy deck, making his way to the bow. The motion of the boat increased, plunging through the waves, rolling slightly. At least the air was fresher. He leaned on the rail and stared ahead, fighting down nausea. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd be off this stinking tub. Then all he would have to do would be to get down the coast.
He longed for a shower, to stand under hot water scrubbing himself with a loofa sponge until his skin glowed pink and clean. He itched from dried sweat and sea water. He started to scratch his stomach, stopped, and stared at his hand in disgust. It was caked with dirt and grease. He scrubbed the palm against the rail in revulsion.
This miserable trip was the latest in a series of catastrophes, but he knew now that it was all her fault. The slut. She'd pay.
He'd find her, and when he did, he'd kill her. He knew she had a boyfriend. Of course she did. He'd been taken in once by her beauty and her air of innocence but not any more. His hands twitched spasmodically, and his teeth bared in a feral smile. She'd changed and now he knew why. She'd found someone else. This time he'd make her tell him who it was.
He'd choke it out of her. He could almost feel her soft throat between his hands, see her eyes bulging. A tremor of excitement flowed through him. His grip on the rail tightened.
This time she would tell him, just before he choked the life out of her. Then he'd find the boyfriend and kill him, too.
Copyright © 1994 by Judith R. Parker