Tuesday, May 22, 2018

My Father Created a Monster XI


At the break of dawn, we made love again. I thought that was the closest I’ve been to complete happiness. But my pessimism forced me to think that things could only go down from that point. I wanted to remain on that level for as long as I could. Maybe, I could alternate my ups and downs, without staying on the downside for a long time. I promised myself not to be the one responsible to ruin such happiness.

That morning we took grandma to church. My grandma looked proud, and I felt proud to be the cause of her pride. We could have taken the car, since Sadie got her temporary license to drive, but instead, we pushed grandma’s wheelchair.

I watched grandma taking communion, and it occurred to me that I've never seen her in the confessional. Her chair didn’t even fit there, how could she confess? Besides, she couldn’t talk. Maybe she prepares a list of her sins at home. I just wished she didn’t mix my sins with hers.

In any case, she took communion every Sunday. I was sure cannibalism was a mortal sin, especially if you owned a butcher shop. It wasn’t like you were stuck in the North Pole with a bunch of dead friends and nothing to eat. And let’s never forget that she was a witness and accomplice to several murders. I could still remember her facial gestures when she called Ana Suarez “puta”.

Probably her donations made her an automatic saint. I understood the reasons why I was a cold-hearted killer. But grandma didn't have any excuses. She never ‘pulled the trigger’, but she was a little perverse too. 

When I went to church, I was as mute as grandma. I had nothing to say, nothing to ask for, or nothing to offer. I wasn’t looking for redemption or absolution. I was guilty and I knew my place wasn’t in heaven or even in that little church. Give me my punishment and send me to hell. 

The first thirteen years of my life weren’t so bad, but then, I suffered continuously for twenty years. If I could enjoy the next twenty years, we could call it even. In any case, I loved grandma, and I knew we’d continue to be together, even after we die.

On our way out, grandma made us stop at the statue of the Virgin Mary, she attached some silver Milagros to the hem of the Virgin’s velvet dress. I couldn’t think of anything she wanted in return. Maybe, more fancy food on the dinner table. 

My grandma was eighty-one years old; she was born in 1930. She’s been my protector and my friend all my life. She had sheltered me in her arms in my times of despair and devastation, which have been many. I was six years old when my mom died, and my grandma took over since then. In my times of need, she always came to my rescue. She knew the story of my life, she knew why I turned out the way I was. 

I was so concentrated on my own survival that I didn’t know very much about her life.

Before we retired to our rooms, I asked her to tell me about her life and after a short pause she sighed and replied with her silent lips: “Mañana”. 

In the morning, she gave me an envelope. Inside, was a letter written by her.


My mom died the day I met your grandpa.

The day I met your grandpa it was a sad day. We used to live in El Pueblito, a tiny little town outside Jerez, Zacatecas. 

I remember every day was a beautiful day in that little town. I was eighteen years old. I was crossing the road holding hands with my mom. We were on our way to the market. It had been raining for two days; the wet dirt roads had sporadic puddles. We were laughing and jumping, trying not to get our shoes wet. 

Then, suddenly my mom disappeared from my hands. Poof! She just vanished. 

Like a bat out of hell, a horse galloping at full speed had taken my mom out of my hands. It all happened in a fraction of a second. Then, when I took hold of my confusion, I saw my mom several yards up ahead on the road, lying face down in a puddle of water. I ran to her, and when I turned her over I knew she was dead. Then, a man in muddy clothing and out of breath arrived at our side, saying that he was riding that horse and had thrown him from his mount. I kept crying disconsolately in the middle of the muddy road with my mom on my lap, and then I heard a shot, the man had just killed his horse. 

A couple of days later, after the funeral, and even though it had been an accident, the man showed up with five cows and offered them to my dad for the pain he had caused. My dad accepted them. They kept talking until dark. 

The following day he appeared with ten more cows. A week later, with my dad’s blessings, (orders?) I married that man. I had no saying in my dad’s decision. 

When I said, “I do” my heart was still full of sorrow and pain for the loss of my mom. A funeral and a wedding took place almost simultaneously, with no time for a prayer or a honeymoon, no time for tears or celebrations.

That man lived in California and had come to look for a wife and he found me. He was thirty-six years old, the year was 1948.

Even then your grandpa calculated everything in cows. To him, I was worth ten cows. I could have refused the proposal, and accepted the consequences of my rebellion, but with my mom gone, I couldn’t stay, besides your grandpa was handsome, tall and imposing. He seemed like a good man, “a good specimen” they used to say. 

My dad lost a wife and a daughter but gained fifteen cows. I lost my mom, but I gained a husband. My mom lost her life and everything else. I lost my mom because your grandpa couldn’t ride horses. (He never rode horses again) Those times were in another century, another world. I was uprooted merciless from my simple and uncomplicated life. I felt the aftershocks for decades. For many years, I felt out of place.

But I learned to love your grandpa. He was a hard, untamed man, an utterly stern, old fashion man. He was just like the desert.

More than forty years later, I was happy for him when he decided to retire to the same world where he had met me. He had worked hard all his life; he deserved it, but I guess God disagreed.

I still think your dad killed him. 

Sandra Cortez Lomelí.

The manuscript was written in Spanish, the writing seemed like drawings, elegant and adorned. It must have taken her all night to write it. A beautiful, sad story which could have remained untold had not been for my curiosity.

Visalia, CA. Nov-27-2012

Saturday, May 19, 2018

My Father Created a Monster X

A Glimpse of Paradise

I got a ticket for driving drunk, it was well deserved. The judge suspended my driver’s license for six months and I had to go to AA meetings for six months. Alcohol had been my best friend for the last months. Since Joy and I started going out to bars, I felt a lot less inhibited or introverted. Alcohol helped me get rid of my insecurities, at least temporarily.
A lot of the people in the AA meetings hadn’t touched alcohol in years and still, they kept coming. Some of them went to the podium and openly told stories about their lives. The great majority of them were sent by the Court, for alcohol, drug or traffic violations. But I hardly saw any wealthy people in those places. It appeared that rich people didn’t commit that kind of infractions. 

Most of them were male, half of them had tattoos. Many of them looked like hippies or Vietnam veterans. I didn’t belong there. I felt out of place. But probably most of them felt the same way.

I didn’t miss driving my car at all. When I was a teenager I preferred walking to riding the bus. Besides Joy could be my driver and Sadie was taking driving lessons.

After one of the meetings, while walking back home, I began to think about finding a rich person to kill, a wealthy female lawyer or a smart and successful doctor, then I wondered if there were any stupid doctors. I wondered how it felt to kill a smart, powerful person. But I’ve never seen a person that fitted that description in this part of town.

My last victim was Fredo, and since then things have been tedious and monotonous. On the streets, I saw every single person as a potential victim, the Mexican guy selling corn on the cob, the black homeless guy pushing a cart with aluminum cans and bottles, the middle-aged chubby woman crossing the street, coming from work or going to the market. But I didn’t see them as a great source of excitement. 

Then, I saw a woman waiting at the bus stop, she appeared to be a streetwalker taking a break or looking for someone to hook. She smiled at me when I sat next to her. When she asked me if I was looking for a good time, I knew the drought was over. She was in her thirties. She had no distinctive attributes, she was just plain average. 

She gave me her rates: forty and sixty. I offered her a hundred dollars but told her she had to be blindfolded while we did it. She accepted.

Then, we headed for my butcher shop or chamber of torture, no, not torture, just chamber of terrors, short terrors. We quietly went in through the side gate. I didn’t want to disturb grandma.

It was very convenient when they volunteered, less of a hustle, less of a struggle. 

She followed my instructions, “Get naked, sit on the stool, cover your eyes with a soft cleaning rag, and don’t move”. I got an immediate erection, but I didn’t want to have sex with her. I just wanted to get my beautiful sharp machete and sliced her neck with it. 

It must be kind of nice to have your life disappear in an instant, without even the slightest warning. To have cut off all your connections, veins, nerves, muscles and all of your senses along with your goals and ambitions and your entire future to just cease to exist in a second, just like that. Some people believe that the moment you die you appear in front of God. If that's the case then, it’s not a bad deal.

Oblivious of my beautiful machete, her head fell to the floor. She didn’t suffer at all, both of us were happy. My orgasm lasted until I cut the last piece of her body. I loved blood, warm, red blood. I was the master of the universe in my butcher shop, surrounded with blood. 

The large glass windows in front of the shop had double blinds, horizontal inside the window frame and vertical blinds from floor to ceiling. Everything was sealed and secure. No one could peek from the outside. That was my world and my kingdom. I liked my new life.

Then I felt a little remorseful because I forgot to ask what her name was. How could I be so disrespectful?


I was getting good at flipping hamburgers by then. I’d bought a large barbecue grill, and I had a giant icebox full of soft drinks. My derelict friends in the park were showing me great appreciation and respect.

My heart jumped full of joy when I saw Sadie crossing the street to get hamburgers for her and Joy. She looked radiantly gorgeous. She sure was getting lovelier each passing day. I felt a little bad giving Joy and Sadie burgers with this kind of meat, but I couldn’t decline. I had no reason to decline.

At night, I served another feast for Grandma. The same dish I prepared for her with Leticia’s breasts. But this time they were C or D size or I didn’t know what size, but they were bigger. Grandma had a big smile when I put her plate on the table, and then, with an inquiring look, she asked who they belonged to. I had anticipated her curiosity. At the center of the table I placed a round display tray, but instead of a cake, it had the head of the girl with ‘no name’ inside. The tray was covered with a kitchen towel for a little surprise. 

Then we proceeded to enjoy our meal on our table for three.

When we finished, Grandma gave me a kiss and went to bed. After I cleaned the table I put the head in a big kettle on the stove to boil it, because I had planned to use the skull as a piggy bank. I thought I’d put it on the nightstand next to my bed. I started my savings with a hundred dollar bill.


The decreasing level of shyness in my personality had been due to recent changes in the way I carried my new life, like going out with Joy and consuming alcohol, having girls around me most of the day, even socializing with people in the AA group. 

I’ve been opening up to new trends in fashion and attitude; I even bought a pair of diamond ear studs and put one of them on my left ear. I figured if I didn’t like how it looked I wouldn’t wear it. I gave the other one to Sadie for her birthday. Joy gave me a look of disapproval. I told Joy that it didn’t mean anything and that I didn’t know what to do with the extra one. 

Sadie was in seventh heaven and caught me by surprise when she kissed me on the lips in front of Joy. 

What happened with Leticia was happening again with Sadie. Her constant proximity was a superhuman temptation. 

When I was in High School, I fell in love many times, and with so many girls, I had many romances of unrequited love. I was sure they never knew I existed. I wrote poems I never delivered for my exaggerated fear of rejection. I wasn’t ugly, but I was always anticipating rejection. 

It was my entire fault, but the refusal or repudiation I felt provoked my mind to remain stuck in those years. That’s probably the reason I only had eyes for teenage girls.

I found that old saying, ‘you can’t have your cake and eat it too’ so simple and stupid, but at the same time, I thought it was profound and true. 

Sadie was my cake, I wanted to have her and eat her too. I wanted to protect her and to love her forever. She was vulnerable and innocent. I wished I never had the need to cause her harm. In my eyes she was perfect, but I was worried that if I got too close to her I could ruin her.

I wrote a poem for her, but later, I thought I would never give it to her because I believed it was a little too silly and that she could laugh at me, and that could bring tragic consequences.

One day, I sent Joy to the bank to deposit the weekly sales with the intention to have some time alone with Sadie.

“You look cool and handsome with your new earring, Angel,” Sadie said right after Joy left.

“Well, you look like an angel with yours, but you don’t need a thing to look like the most amazing creature in the world. Maybe I shouldn’t give you any compliments; after all, you’re too young for me.”

I remembered I said those same words to someone else before.

“Only one more year, and then I can do whatever I want. Joy says that you look at me behind my back ‘with lustful desires.’ I know all relationships start as friends. We can be friends for a while, and after that who knows.”

“Sadie, you’re talking like a ‘femme fatale’ and not like the seventeen-year-old innocent girl that you are.”

“Ha, I’m not a famine . . . whatever you said. I just want you to take me to the movies or someplace. And you know what? I might not be so innocent after all, last night I had a dream with you. Hmm, I woke up sweating.”

“You’re very lovely, Sadie from every angle. I think you’re great. I wish I was ten years younger, but I don’t wish you to be ten years older, you’re perfect now.”

“When you gave me the earring and I kissed you, Joy scolded me for an hour. She kept nagging and begging me not to get involved with you, but I know she loves me more than anything in the world. She protects me like a mother and I adore her, but I know that after a while she’ll leave us alone.” she said.

Then, I remembered the poem in my pocket and after hesitating for half a second I gave it to her. I turned away and began laboring on a large chunk of meat. Right after I gave it to her, I regretted it. I was a hundred percent sure it was so silly, I wanted it back, but it was too late. I swore I wouldn’t kill her if she threw the piece of paper in the trash. “Okay Sadie, just ignore it. I don’t want to kill you. Like it or not, don’t say a thing, please.” I thought.

Earthly Angel

Half my life was filled with emptiness
I kept floating in a dense fog
Empty space suspended in nothingness
Thus, we are the same age.
I feel I can touch you,
But you are light years away.
Galaxies, your freckles seem to me,
My soul, I could sacrifice
For a kiss from your Celestial lips
Your astral eyes, full of universal happiness
Fill my vacuous solitude.
Your cosmic blue eyes
Shame the ocean’s blue waters.
I want to transfuse your translucent love
Into my chaotic and confused heart.
I want to transform and translate a word:
Into what you really are:
Full of Beauty.

“Listen, I’m new at this, but tell me, if you know so much about it: How do you tell your heart not to fall in love with a certain person? How do you tell he’s off limits? When I know my heart has its own mind. And by the way Angel, I’m not light years away. I’m next to you, and you can love me if you want to. We don’t have to wait for anybody’s permission.” she said, with unexpected maturity after reading my inferior third-class poem.

Sadie looked even more beautiful with water in her eyes.

“I can only tell you one thing Sadie; if you know nothing about love, I know less. I only ask one thing of you, I beg you that if you start loving me never, never stop.”

"I can easily do that. And, oh, your poem is the most beautiful thing I have ever read, Angel."

A minute later Joy appeared at the front door and found us working. 

I spent all week trying to find an excuse to send Joy away for a few hours, but my mind went blank. Trips to the bank only gave me one hour. The opportunity emerged without premeditation. Somebody invited both of them to camp overnight at Pismo beach, and Sadie declined. 

I was experiencing a new sensation. 

When I was a teenager I kept creating scenarios, images, and conversations that never took place in real life. It was all inside my head, but this time, it was real. Sadie was looking at me out of the corner of her eye, with a soft and playful smile. It was real.

I had killed six persons in that room, my father, the thief, Ana Suarez, Leticia, Fredo and the hooker. Three of them I killed on the same stool Sadie was sitting on. I truly believed I had two different persons in me, otherwise, how could I fall in love with an innocent young girl and simultaneously be an insatiable cold murderer. 

Could I lead a normal life and be a serial killer at the same time? Could I be a sensitive man and a sadistic killer at the same time?

I could feel the tension in the atmosphere. I was sure Sadie could feel it too. I felt nervous anticipating the approaching moments, my body trembled inside. That's what I felt when I saw Leticia standing on the stool, but on that occasion, the ambient was purely sexual. This time the combination was perfect: innocent love and lustful desires.

I was aware that a prolonged courtship was unnecessary. It was the beginning and the culmination. The quiet flames were there before the fire started.

After we closed the store, we performed our cleaning chores silently. All excuses had expired; my Scandinavian/Amazon with her flaming reddish hair was approaching me. She looked ultra-sexy without trying to be. I didn’t know what part of me was more excited, my soul, my heart, my mind or . . .  

She was wearing a regular girlie white dress and a blue blouse. She could be in one of those Target fliers advertising teenage clothing. Even in those pages, she would stand out. Her lips looked soft and succulent; her skin was smooth and mild. 

When we kissed, we disappeared from this world. I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her to the stool. I removed her dress and underwear. I embraced her and buried my face in her curly red, pubic hair. Her lower lips were just as sweet. My tongue, like a fish, began to swim in the depths of her red sea, her juices flowed like lava from a volcano. She raised one leg and wrapped it around my shoulder. Paradise couldn’t compare to this.

All roads were taken, all decisions, failures, and achievements from the day I was born until that day, absolutely everything I’ve done up to that point in my life, had led to that moment. My life had just begun.

We spent all night in my room, the same room where I endured countless moments of profound bitterness and intense grief. But with that glorious night, I could erase all my accumulated pain.

Visalia, Ca. 02-06-2012

Friday, May 4, 2018

My Father Created a Monster IX


One night Joy and I watched a movie about a serial killer. I was completely hooked on the story, I hardly blinked at all.
The protagonist’s father was a compulsive gambler and alcoholic, his mother was also an alcoholic. She frequently left him in the care of their grandfather, a convicted child molester. He was neglected and often fed by neighbors. 

When he was six, he was placed in an orphanage, where he remained for three years. At age ten he was arrested for minor crimes and ended up in a juvenile detention center, where he was sexually abused by older boys. 

By his teens, back home with his mother, he began molesting younger children. In his twenties, he was in and out of prison for ten years for sexually assaulting youths between the ages of 12 and 18. At some point, he was released after doctors had concluded he was “no longer a danger to others.” A year later he was back behind bars for raping a fourteen-year-old hitch-hiker at gunpoint, he was sentenced to one to fifteen years in prison. Four years later he was released again, and he told a friend, “No one’s going to testify again. This will never happen to me again.”

After killing more than thirty boys from twelve to nineteen years of age in a period of little more than a year, he was caught thanks to a tip from one of his accomplices. After he had confessed, he expressed no remorse, and he said, “If I were free I’d still be killing. I couldn’t stop killing. It got easier each time”.

The first murder he committed was a thirteen-year-old hitchhiker. The autopsy showed that he had been emasculated, bludgeoned, stabbed and strangled to death. All of them were raped. One was stabbed more than 70 times. One was forced to drink acid another was killed with an ice pick driven into his ear.

He was sentenced to the death penalty. After 16 years in prison, he was the first person in California to be executed by lethal injection because the gas chamber was found to be a “cruel and unusual” method of execution.

Joy and I didn’t have sex that night; the movie was too disturbing. After it was over, I went home to have a talk with my brain, and analyze it. 

The movie pushed me to reflect on my depraved actions. I knew I wasn’t as vicious or cruel as this killer. My machete kills like a guillotine, there’s no suffering involved, and it only takes a second.

I knew I was going straight to hell, there was no doubt about it, but there had to be a difference on the punishment one gets. Would I get the same punishment if a kill one person or if I kill ten? 

I inherited my dad’s ‘bad blood’. What he did with me had a devastating effect on my sanity. I gained nothing by blaming dad for all my evil acts. All I could say was that if I had a good father, I’d be a good son. 

The death penalty didn’t scare me at all. Most killers don’t care about capital punishment. I don’t think it works as a deterrent, at least not in my case.

Before they executed the serial killer, he declared: 

“I feel the death penalty is not the answer to the problems at hand, I feel it sends the wrong message to the people of this country. Young people act as they see other people acting instead of as people tell them to act. I would advise that when a person has a thought of doing something serious against the law, that before they do, they should go to a quiet place and think about it seriously.” 

Why should I be afraid of hell if I’m dead already and I can’t feel a thing? Why should I be afraid if I cannot die a second time? 


Joy’s sister was seventeen when she arrived in town. She had reddish, brown hair. She was even more beautiful than Joy, She reminded me of Leticia. She was very friendly and effusive and she seemed genuinely pleased to meet me. 

Sadie was the one who should have been named Joy because she was full of joy. 

Joy and I decided to let her work with us. I didn’t know what to expect with the new situation. I might turn Joy loose and try my luck with my new ‘Lolita’.

Two weeks later, she was enjoying the Mexican folklore. We heard Mexican music all day; I figured she’ll be singing mariachi songs soon. Joy warned me to stay away from her. I didn’t know if that could be possible, it was up to Sadie. 

If Joy thought I could break Sadie's heart, she was wrong, I knew I could never break anybody’s heart. It had always been the opposite.

I wondered if my thirst to kill had been satisfied. Nobody was tormenting me anymore, but after watching that movie, I thought I still had so much to learn about myself.

Visalia, Ca.

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

My Father Created a Monster VIII

Ascending Psycho

Her name was Joy, she was twenty years old. She had been waiting a long time to move away from home. Her plan was to get established in LA and later return for her sixteen-year-old sister because she didn’t want her to have the same miserable life she had. 

We made an oral agreement, she promised to stay for at least three months and after that, we could make new arrangements. 

I offered her to stay in a small house and she accepted. She seemed to be smarter than Leticia. She had short reddish, brown hair, clear brown eyes and was very attractive. It took her just a short week to learn how to handle the job with expertise.

On her first weekend in town, I invited her out for a beer. We ended up in a gay bar. She appeared to be comfortable around gay people. She was actually very friendly with everybody. 

After a few beers, she asked me to dance

“I’m not drunk enough,” I said.

Her company was very pleasant. She hadn’t noticed yet how shy I was.

“I’ve never danced in public in my whole life. I’m sure I don’t know how to dance to any kind of music, but if I’m drunk and if it’s crowded I might give it a try.” I said.

We never found out if I could dance because we got drunk and forgot about dancing. We returned home around midnight and we had sex. 

She said one of his dad’s friends raped her when she was sixteen and that her dad stabbed him in the back. They sentenced her dad to five years in prison, but he did only two. Her mom left them while he was in jail. She was afraid something like that could happen to her younger sister too. 


So far, the murders I’ve committed had been ‘hate crimes’. I hated insults and denigration, (Dad) I hated getting robbed, (Thief) and I hated betrayal (Leticia). I've been around animal blood, meat and bones all my life, but my emotions never got involved in that. When I first came in contact with human blood, I noticed it could be addictive. 

Being in control gave me power, and with that power, shyness disappeared.

The perfect crime is perfect until it gets discovered, and if you kill someone and nobody finds out, it could become an obsession to kill again—being so easy.

Joy adapted quickly to the city, she seemed relaxed and happy. We went back to the gay bar.

“I like this little town, I love my new freedom too.” She said.

“It must be hard for a woman to be on the road all by herself, right?”

“Oh, yeah, there are a lot of psychos in California, but not you, you’re a sweet guy. I can't even imagine you killing an ant.”

“I hope you never find out what I’m capable of, but thanks for your honest opinion.”

“I must tell you again that I’m not a hooker. I never accepted doing it with dirty old men, only good looking guys like you. I don’t think I’ll do it again. By the way, I wanted to thank you for your hospitality and your friendship. I really needed a break from the instability and dangers of the road.”

“Well, you’ve been very helpful. At first, the customers felt a little intimidated by you because they don’t speak English, but now, they like you because you’re trying to speak Spanish. They think it’s funny.” 

“I can’t believe so many people in America don’t speak English. But I like Spanish people, the food, the music, their culture”

“But we’re not Spanish, we’re Mexicans.”

“You know what I mean, Latinos, Hispanics, Mexicans, all I’m trying to say is people that speak Spanish.” 

I should have started drinking alcohol when I was younger. It made me feel less inhibited. Had I noticed it fifteen years ago, I’d be a happy alcoholic instead of the recluse, introverted asshole that I am now.

Some guys were playing pool in the back. Half the people were in their underwear, even the bartender. Joy found out that every night they had a different theme, and today was underwear day. 

She dared me to remove my pants.

"I’m not drunk enough,"

“It seems that you’re never drunk enough, come on, let’s play in our panties.”

"Hey, I'm not wearing panties," I said.

"Ha, you know what I mean."

I wasn’t brave enough to take communion at church, but there I was, shooting pool in my briefs surrounded by gay people and it felt great. If dad could see me he’d kill me for sure. 

A guy kept sending us drinks, I didn’t know if he was after Joy or me. I couldn’t tell if he was gay or not. When he finally approached us, instead of shaking my hand, he grabbed my balls. 

His name was Alfred, he said we could call him Al or Fred, but I decided to call him Fredo. He looked a little like Fredo, from the movie The Godfather. He was after my bones after all. 

Watching two guys kiss could make me cringe, two girls not so much, but I knew I could never have sex with another man, not even if I was drunk.

After a while, Fredo invited us to his house, Joy declined. She said she was too drunk. I called for a taxi cab to take her home, but I stayed. Fredo probably thought I was going to have sex with him, but I had other plans. Instead of going to his place, I took him to the butcher shop.

If he could see the future, he’d feel safer in hell. 

As soon as we got in the shop, I put my apron on and started sharpening my machete. 

“You’ll be my slave for the rest of the night,” I said.

“Ooh, I like it. You’re so cool. I’ll let you do whatever you want with me.” he replied.

I told him to sit on a stool. I covered his eyes with his own tie, put a rag in his mouth and covered it with duct tape. Then, I tied his hands with an electrical cord and put them on top of a butcher’s block. Then, I grabbed my reliable machete and with a savage force I cut off both hands.  

He didn’t react for at least a full second. With the sensation of still having his hands attached to his arms, he was trying to remove the tie from his eyes and the duct tape from his mouth. But all he was doing was rubbing his bloody stumps all over his face. He was screaming at the top of his lungs, but with his mouth gagged, it was all in vain. He started to jump wildly like a chicken without its head. It was a surreal and bizarre bloody sight.

His actions were a total sign of impotent desperation. He began to run until he crashed into the wall and bounced back. Then, with a powerful blow of my machete, he really didn’t have a head anymore. 

Fred, Alfred or Fredo didn’t exist anymore. Our lives converged only for a few hours, now he was gone. Satan sent him my way at the wrong time.

Fredo didn't do anything wrong, he was probably a good person. He could say life wasn’t fair, I could say that too. 

My homeless friends were happy again. Some of them had started to call me ‘Don Angel’. They formed an orderly long line to get their hamburgers. I saved two portions of meat for grandma and me.

The following night, I prepared another exquisite dish for grandma chosen from her French recipe book. 

I thought my plan could be a little gross, but I was about to test grandma’s limits. I stuffed Fredo’s penis with a zucchini, and his balls with the sweetest and biggest peaches I could find. That was for grandma, and for me, I had several thin slices of fillet taken from his buttocks.

I put it in the oven at 350° for ninety minutes and then I surrounded the plate with steamed vegetables and added grapes and tiny squares of apples and pears, all sprinkled with cinnamon and a few drops of honey. 

When I served the plate to my impatient grandma, with an astonished look, she jerked her body an inch backward as if she had the hiccups. After a brief instant, with a subtle smile, she took my plate and passed me hers. Then, she started eating with singular elegance and excellent manners.

Grandma wasn’t so twisted after all. 

I didn’t touch the plate, instead, I grabbed some cereal and milk and kept looking at the grotesque organ, and I thought that maybe even Fredo’s boyfriend wouldn’t have eaten it either.

Edmundo Barraza

Visalia, CA. 10-22-2012