December 4, 2017“Someone just killed the butler. I promise, he died with a smile, at least he had one when I found him.”
The dining table decidedly drove the drove from miles around and now seated one and all to finely dine from oak and wine; a lawyer, a baker, a butcher, a waiter, the dentist quite happy, the mechanic out of commission, a police officer perusing political office, a once-professional tennis pro now aspiring standup comedian moonlighting as instructor, and the triangle girl from the local indie band that allows only young freckled girls in mustard colored cardigans to join. Some with mouths ajar and others chewing silently, few enthralled, appalled, bored and forged by the fervent fire of the furnace nearby—in the moment, the madness and the menace that awaited amongst them, seated and subtle, masticated at the meat before the last supper.
With some slow sludging seconds, another butler arrived—white-gloved and pinstriped in charcoal grey monochrome clad, hairless and mustached with an air of finesse as he undressed the main course, ”Let us see a raise of hands for all who deserve their pudding.”
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