In the dim glow of the television, Red dozed in the recliner beside six empty cans of beer on the end table. He had fallen asleep a few hours earlier during a commercial break while watching Hunter. When the knock at the door woke his dog, Red stirred from sleep and found a bunch of coloreds on the television dancing and singing like they were having the goddamn time of their lives. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was Showtime at the Apollo. Guess they’ll put anything on the tube at this hour.

The second time there was a knock, he noticed Daisy was whining at the door. Red turned off the television and groaned as he got up from the recliner. He had no idea what kind of idiot would be knocking on his door at this hour, but Red was going to make damn sure they went away. He opened the hall closet in the entryway and retrieved his shotgun and a handful of slugs. After he loaded the ammo, he kicked the dog out of his way and leaned against the door.

“Hello?” the man outside called. “Anyone home?”

Red didn’t like the sound of his voice. He sounded like a regular asshole. Red had his hand on the handle but the creaking staircase behind him caught his attention before he started to open the door. His head whipped around to find Lola creeping down the stairs. She froze when his eyes locked on her and for a moment he wondered if she was actually sneaking down the stairs, or trying to sneak back up. If this guy banging on the door was here because of her, he was going let her have it as soon as he got rid of him. Red scowled at her and jabbed a finger toward the top of the stairs and Lola pivoted and raced up to her bedroom. The door slammed shut. Little brat.

The loser on the other side of the door started knocking again. Red twisted the handle and opened the door enough to slide the barrels of the shotgun out. When the guy noticed the barrels a few inches in front of his face he threw his hands up and took a step back.

“Shit,” the guy said. “Easy man.”

“Why the hell are you banging on my goddamn door in the middle of the night?” Red demanded.

“I’m sorry,” the guy said. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. My car broke down. I just need to use your phone.”

“Go to hell,” Red said.

“Please,” the guy begged.

Red was about to slam the door in his face when the gold crucifix hanging around the man’s neck caught his eye. Even if he hadn’t been to church in a long time, Red still considered himself a religious man and he believed that the good lord sent angels down to walk amongst us and test us from time to time. Maybe it was more of a superstition than faith, but there was no sense in taking any chances.

“What’s your name?” Red sneered.

“Lowell,” the man shivered from the cold rain.

Red scrutinized him for a long moment. He sure didn’t look like no angel.

“I just need to use the phone,” he repeated.

Red considered the stranger on his porch a few seconds longer. Of course the good lord wouldn’t send an angel that actually looked like an angel. Wouldn’t be much of a test then, he reasoned.

“One call,” Red said as he lowered the shotgun and stepped back from the door to let Lowell inside. Daisy circled around Lowell and sniffed at his soaking wet jeans with particular interest. Red watched as the stranger crouched down to pet his Dalmatian. At first, Daisy flinched at his touch, but after a moment she stuck out her tongue and licked his hand. Red never really like the dog himself. His wife, Marcy, she was the one who wanted it. Once she passed from the cancer, he was stuck with the dang thing.

“See,” the man said to the dog. “I’m not so bad.”

Red cleared his throat.

“Phone is in the kitchen,” he told Lowell and gestured with the shotgun to urge him to move. Red followed him down the hall toward the kitchen with the gun still in his hands. He wasn’t holding the man at gunpoint, but he sure wasn’t going to be caught off guard either. Red pointed at the phone mounted on the wall next to the back door and watched as Lowell picked up the receiver and dialed a number.

A creak on the floorboards upstairs told him Lola was still sneaking around up there. Red groaned and looked up at the cracked and yellowed surface of the drywall over his head. The little tramp just never knew when to quit. Pain in the ass.

“Hey, it’s Lowell.”

Red returned his gaze to the man on the phone.

“We got a problem,” Lowell said. “Go get Lou.”

A pause.

“I don’t care what he is doing,” Lowell said. “My car broke down and there’s an issue with the... package.”

The noises of his daughter on the stairs made Red turn his back on the man to look down the hall. He spotted her as she peeked over the bannister.

“I told you to go to bed,” Red growled.

“Who is that?” she asked.

“None of your goddamn business. Now get your ass upstairs.”

The little brat gave him the finger.

Red shook his head as he turned back around and noticed the man with the phone to his ear was watching the exchange. He gave Lowell a hard stare until he averted his gaze. Being a father, Red was ever aware of the looks that men were giving his teenage daughter. He particularly didn’t want this stranger who showed up in the middle of the night getting an eyeful.

“Lou,” Lowell said. “We got a problem.”

A pause. Someone on the other end of the phone started complaining and cursing.

“No,” Lowell said. “Listen damn it, it’s not just that.” He looked over to find Red was still watching him and seemed to take a moment to weigh his words before speaking. He casually cupped a hand over the receiver to partially cover his mouth. “The thing you gave me wasn’t finished. You hear me? I had to handle it myself.”

Another pause followed by some more cursing and shouting.

“No,” Lowell shook his head. “That was not part of the deal. You send somebody down here now. I’m not taking the heat for this. No fucking way.”

Red was trying to glean what information he could from the conversation, but he could only figure that there was something more to it than just a broken down car. Lowell looked anxious even after he hung up the phone.

“Thanks,” he said to Red.

“Guess you best get going,” Red told him as he stepped aside to let Lowell pass through the hall.

“Sorry if I woke you and your daughter,” Lowell added as Red followed him to the front door.

Daisy ran in between Lowell and the front door and wagged her tail as she looked up at the man. Red felt a tinge of anger at the Dalmatian. Dogs were supposed to be loyal. His was just an asshole.

Lowell bent down and stroked the dog on the head once more.

“You guys see or hear anything strange tonight?” Lowell asked. He looked up at Red and up the stairs and Red realized the man was eyeing his daughter who refused to keep her little ass in the bedroom.

“Strange?” Red asked him. The only thing out of the ordinary was the asshole banging on his door in the middle of the night. “What do you mean?”

“Anything out of the ordinary on the news or anything?”

Red looked back at his daughter who shrugged at the question. The conversation concerned him and made him curious all at once.

“Never mind,” Lowell said. “I’m sorry again for disturbing you, both.”

He got up to leave and opened the door. The sound of the pouring rain flooded the house. Red watched as Lowell turned to step down the porch and froze in his tracks.

“What is it?” Red asked him.

As Lowell retreated inside and whirled around to slam the door shut, Red thought he saw a figure approaching the house through the rain.

“Who is out there?” Red demanded.

Lowell ignored his question and kept his body pressed against the door. Red tightened his grip on the rifle as he felt his patience wearing thin.

“Well?” Red snapped again.

Lowell raised a finger to his lips to urge Red to keep quiet. This guy had some nerve, Red thought, telling him to shut up in his own home. He didn’t realize he had started to do it, but he lifted the barrels of the shotgun once again so they were pointed in the direction of the man blocking his front door. If this guy was trying to pull something, Red would not hesitate to pump him full of lead.

The old wooden boards on the front porch creaked under the weight of the person outside. Then there was a thump on the door. It didn’t sound like a knock, more like the imbecile outside just walked right into the door. Probably drunk off their ass or high on the weed. Red watched as the handle begin to twist. Lowell flipped the deadbolt and stepped back from the door. Daisy sniffed at the air and started to whine like she was worried about whatever she was smelling. That dog was such a worthless chickenshit.

“Give me the gun,” Lowell whispered urgently.

“Like hell,” said Red. He took a step back to keep a safe distance from Lowell. He shifted the shotgun so the barrel pointed at the stranger once again.

“Listen,” Lowell persisted.

“No,” Red cut him off. “You listen. You’re in my goddamn house. You got that? I ain’t fooling around. I could shoot you dead right now and nobody would think nothing about it.”

There was another thud on the front door. Daisy snarled and barked at the sound.

“Shut the hell up!” Red yelled at the dog. The sound of his booming voice made her scurry out of the hall with her tail between her legs.

“Okay,” Lowell said. He raised his hands halfway up as if in surrender. “Just chill out, man.”

“Now I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in, but I want you and your friend out there off of my goddamn property. You hear?”

“You don’t understand,” Lowell pleaded. “Something is going on. People are acting... strange.”

“No shit,” Red said.

“Red.”

He twisted his head around to the sound of his daughter and spotted her parked on the sofa in the front room, peering outside through the drapes. Red must have been so worked up he failed to notice her creeping down the stairs again. Sneaky little tramp.

“What is it now damn it?” Red snapped.

“That looks like Emma Watson outside.”

“What?” Red said. Emma Watson was seventy years old. She wouldn’t even be awake now, let alone wandering around in the middle of the damn night. Not unless something was seriously wrong.

“It looks like she is hurt,” Lola added.

“Open the door,” Red growled at Lowell.

“No,” Lowell warned him. “I’m telling you.”

“Shut up,” Red spit. He leveled the shotgun at Lowell’s chest and cocked the hammer to show him he meant business. “Open the goddamn door.”

Lowell held his ground for a moment before he turned around and gripped the handle. His other hand held the deadbolt, but he paused to listen to the creaking noise outside.

“Hurry it up,” Red commanded.

Lowell let out a breath and opened the door in a swift motion to find the porch was empty. Lowell poked his head out to look to his right as Emma lunged at him from the left. Her hands latched onto his jean jacket as he stumbled back into the house. The two of them tumbled to the floor in a heap and the old woman climbed on top of Lowell and snapped her dentures at his face until he shoved her off of him.

“Emma,” Red gasped. She didn’t seem to even notice him standing there as she clawed at Lowell again. Maybe she couldn’t hear him over hysterical barking coming from the front room where Lola held Daisy by her collar.

“Shoot her!” Lowell pleaded.

Red noticed the wet nightgown that clung to her feeble frame was drenched and stained with blood. She had gaping wounds on her neck and arms. Red figured the way she was attacking Lowell meant he must have had something to do with it.

“Emma,” Red repeated.

Red was frozen. Shock and confusion paralyzed him so he didn’t even fight when Lowell ripped the shotgun out of his hands. All he could do was look on as Lowell pulled the trigger and then splattered Emma Watson’s brains all over the front door. Her body collapsed and trickled blood onto the wooden floorboards. Red stared down at her body unable to move.

Lowell stepped over her body and walked through the front door. He stepped down off the front porch and scanned the yard. A moment later her turned around and returned to the house and slammed the front door.

“We need to shut off these lights,” he said. “There’s more of them coming.”

Rain battered the windshield as Lowell clenched the steering wheel and fought to see the road through the condensation on the glass. He reached a hand up to wipe at the moisture with the sleeve of his denim jacket but his breath only seemed to make the situation worse. He couldn't see shit. He cursed and cranked up the air conditioning even though it had broken long ago.

It was bad enough trying to see in this rain, but the roads out here in rural Ohio were dark as hell, too. Lightning shattered the sky momentarily and illuminated the countryside in a white blaze. In the distance, he could see the treetops along the horizon and the black shape of a darkened farmhouse in the distance. Maybe the power was out in this area. That wouldn't be a surprise. This was a hell of a storm. Every time the powerful wind gusted it nearly blew the old Mercury Cougar off the road. He took his foot of the gas and reduced his speed. He thought about pulling over and waiting the storm out on the side of the road, but then he thought better of it and kept driving.

An approaching set of headlights appeared over a hill in the distance. The sight of them made him realize it had been awhile since he'd seen another vehicle on the roads at all. Twenty or thirty minutes, at least. No one else was crazy or desperate enough to be out on a night like this.

As the car approached, the bright lights reflected off the puddles on the street and the fog and blinded him. He squinted his eyes and searched for the faded painted lines on the road. The glare left him temporarily blinded once the car had passed and the darkness returned. He blinked and his eyes opened in time to see the grill of his car buckle the frame of a dark figure in the road.

"Shit!" Lowell cursed.

He slammed on the brakes and the car fishtailed over the wet surface and skidded to a stop in the gravel alongside the road. The wipers rumbled as they swept the rain off the windshield and Lowell stared at the stalks of corn bathed in the glow of the headlights. The big engine rumbled beneath the patter of the rain and the sound of Yes playing "Owner of a Lonely Heart" on the radio.

He debated driving on. Just hit the goddamn gas and go and pretend like it never happened. It wouldn't be the worst thing he has ever done. Hell, it might not even be the worst thing he did today. It wasn't fear that he killed someone that made him decide to shift the car in park. It was the fear that they might still be alive. That was the last thing he needed right now. A witness.

Lowell felt around beneath the seat and located the crowbar. His fingers curled around the steel handle as he popped open the door. The sound of the pouring rain smacking on the pavement greeted him like a shower of applause. He glanced up and down the road to make sure no other vehicles were coming before he turned back to focus on the motionless body in the red glow of the taillights. The denim jacket already felt damp and heavy from the pouring rain. The body remained still. Even though he just wanted to get back inside the dry car and get the hell out of there, he had to be sure.

Lowell combed back the stringy curtains of wet hair before he started walking toward the back of the car. No one in their right mind would be out wandering in the middle of the road in this storm. The person must have seen him coming. The long straight road meant there was plenty of time to move out of the way. Unless he didn't want to.

His thoughts were interrupted when the arm of the man jerked to life. It flopped down again and clawed at the pavement. Lowell froze and tightened his grip on the crowbar as the man got to his knees. The man was grey-haired, unshaven, and covered in blood. The guy was in his pajamas, too. Maybe it was just the glow of the headlights, but streamlets of red water flowed across the cement.

"What the hell?" Lowell gasped. He took a step forward and leaned in closer. "You okay, man?"

The guy didn't answer but he looked up. His shattered jawbone dangled from one side of face. Teeth and bone fragments dribbled onto the asphalt. No wonder he wasn't saying anything. The man tried to get to his feet, but his legs buckled beneath him. He crawled forward instead, reaching out a hand toward Lowell as he backed away.

"Just take it easy," Lowell urged the man. He already had the crowbar raised before he was aware he was lifting it.

The man lunged forward suddenly and Lowell swung the crowbar sidearm. The blunt hook struck the side of the mangled face and snapped his entire head sideways. The man slumped to the ground again. Lowell let out a breath and quickly scanned up and down the road again. Everything was dark and shifting in the wind. It was just a matter of time before another car came along. He had to get moving.

Lowell tried to wipe the moisture off his face with the damp sleeve of his denim jacket. When he lowered his arm he realized the guy was pushing his body up off the ground again. His right eye socket was caved in from the crowbar, but the left eye found Lowell and the man plunged toward him again.

"What the fuck?" cried Lowell as the man crashed into his legs. The weight of the guy nearly knocked Lowell to the ground but he kept his footing and retreated a few steps as the man sprawled on the ground. Lowell raised the crowbar again and brought it down on the back of the man's skull. There was a sharp crack as the heavy steel fractured the bone. Lowell cursed again and lifted the crowbar again. He was pretty sure the guy was dead now, but felt like hitting the fucking bastard once more for being such a pain in the ass to kill. He felt the splatter of warm fluid on his face after the impact.

The crowbar fell from his fingers and clanged against the street as he stared at the mangled body of the man. He huffed out a few labored breaths and scanned the road in each direction again. His shaky hand reached inside his jean jacket and removed a wet pack of cigarettes because he couldn't think of what else he should be do. He flicked at the flint of the cheap lighter several times but the damp thing just threw a couple sparks and refused to light. Son of a bitch. The lighter was just another sign the whole world was working against him tonight.

"Pull yourself together," Lowell said to himself as he tossed the unlit smoke aside in anger. He bent down to grab the body and haul it toward the ditch on the side of the road, but when he thought he heard another noise through the sound of the rain, he paused.

Thump.

At first, he thought he imagined it, so he resumed grabbing up the wrists of the dead man. When he heard the sound again, he froze.

Thump.

He jerked his head around and watched the Cougar. The rear end of the car bobbed up and down slightly. Lowell stared at the vehicle in the falling rain with his mouth open.

Thump.

Lowell let the arms of the man slip out of his fingers and splash in a puddle of bloody water collecting on the ground. He grabbed the crowbar wiped the rain from his face again and walked toward the trunk of the idling car.

Thump.

The sound made him pause a few feet away with his eyes on the latch of the trunk. There was no doubting the sound was coming from inside. His mind wasn't playing tricks on him. Still, it wasn't possible because he knew for damn sure that the only thing that could be making that noise was Sherry. And that wasn't possible because Sherry was fucking stone cold dead when he stuffed her body in the car a couple hours ago. No goddamn way she was alive.

Thump.

Lowell took a step away from the trunk. He wasn't getting paid enough for this shit. He should have told Fat Lou to get his own fat ass in the car and drive out here to the middle of fucking nowhere to hide the body of his now ex-girlfriend. At least, Lou could have made sure the bitch was actually dead. Christ. He was going to have to fucking deal with her himself now.

Thump.

Lowell cursed and muttered to himself as he splashed around to the front of the car, killed the engine, and took out the key. He moved back to the trunk and inserted the key. As soon as he popped the lock, the trunk sprang open and Sherry emerged. Her eyes were milky white and Lowell could see the purple bruise from the telephone cord on her neck.

"Shit," Lowell said as he stepped back and raised the crowbar.

Sherry toppled onto the ground and landed on her face, grinding her flesh on the rough surface of the road. She wasn't alive. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. But Lowell just stared at her. His tired mind trying to wrap itself around what was going on.

"Sherry?" He called her name to see if she could respond to him. She lifted her head and let out a raspy utterance that almost sounded like she was trying to say "Hi."

Maybe she was still alive. Lowell reached out a hand as she struggled to her feet. Sherry lunged for him and snapped her teeth.

"Stay the fuck back, Sherry," Lowell growled. He raised the crowbar to warn her that he meant it.

The crazy bitch just kept coming at him. What the hell. Lowell tried to get a good look at her again, but her long wet hair hung down in front of her face. She reached for him again as she stepped through a puddle in her bare feet. Even if he still had no idea what was going on, he wasn't about to let her get any closer.

Lowell swung the crowbar. The metal crunched against the side of her skull. Sherry fell to her knees on the road and let out a pathetic groan. Lowell felt his stomach knotting up as he stared down at the woman. Angry blood surged through his veins. It wasn't Sherry he was pissed at, he actually felt pity for her. She wobbled on her knees in a daze.

"Sorry Sherry," Lowell said. He raised the crowbar again and slammed it down on the top of her skull. She collapsed to the ground in heap. Lowell glanced up and down the road again to make sure it was still clear. Then he felt something grabbing at his ankle. He jumped back and noticed that Sherry was still moving, reaching for him even.

"Jesus," he gasped. He smacked her with the crowbar again. Then he lifted it and brought it down again and again. He took out all of his pent up anger and frustration on her. "Just fucking die already."

By the time he wore himself out, her head was just a pile bone fragments and soggy meat. Lowell flung the crowbar away from him in disgust. What a mess.

He tried not to look at the bodies as he dragged them off to the ditch alongside the road. The horror of the last thirty minutes was starting to sink in and Lowell began to panic. He'd put a few scumbags in the hospital, but he had never killed anyone before. He worked furiously to hide the bodies, ripping out stalks of corn to cover them in the field. When he paused to examine his work, he realized how futile it was. He just needed to get the hell out of there.

Lowell went back to the Cougar and got behind the wheel. He shivered from the cold as he searched in his jean pockets for the keys. He pulled them out and jabbed the car key in the ignition. When he cranked the key, the engine sputtered and fell silent again. He tried it again, but the Cougar was dead.

"No, no, no," Lowell growled as he slammed a fist on the steering wheel. He was really fucked now. He looked up and down the road as another flash of lightening streaked across the sky. Then he noticed a dim light in the window of a farmhouse in the distance. He stared at it for several minutes as the rain pounded the roof of the car. When the light went out, he opened the door and stepped out into the rain. He left the Cougar in the middle of the road and began to walk through the tall rows of corn toward the darkened farmhouse.

Last night, lightning exploded the sky and thunder rocked the earth. Our lights went out, blinked on, then out again. The television that we stared at most nights was black. It seemed like that was all we could ever find the energy for anymore, so without it we figured we might as well go to bed. We turned off the flashlight, tried to block out each other snoring, and the dog cowering between us in the blankets. We drowned ourselves in sleep.

I dreamt about the letters that arrived in the mail. The ones that warned us our house was not our house for very long. In my dream, the house, the mailbox, the yard, everything rested at the bottom of a fish tank. All of it was under water. I was swimming to the mailbox, trying to hold my breath long enough to retrieve the mail.

We woke up at dawn, though it was still flashing midnight, midnight, midnight on the clock. The air smelled aquatic. Our house was by a lake, and when it rained the scent of fish was so harsh it was like were living inside one.

“The power is back,” said Tara. “That was some storm.”

“It scared the shit out of the dog.”

“She always hides from thunder.”

“No,” I said, looking at the pile on the rug. “I meant it literally.”

“Sadie!” Tara said. She went to the bathroom to grab some tissues to clean it.

The dog ran out of the room in shame, then ran back in a minute later soaking wet and jumped in the bed.

“Oh no,” I said.

“The bed!” Tara said.

“The basement,” I said. “I need to check the basement.”

I spent the morning in filthy water three inches deep. Sucking it up in a shop vacuum and dumping it down to let the sump push it outside. It took all morning and even after I was done I felt like the filmy water was still on my skin.

“I need a shower, but I don’t want to see water for a week,” I said.

“Take a shower,” said Tara.

“The day is ruined.”

“Ben, take a shower. Please,” she said. She was walking around the kitchen in just a t-shirt looking for particular pots and pans. “I’ll make breakfast.”

The prospect of bacon can get me to do anything, so I showered. She came in the bathroom while I was rinsing my hair.

“I burnt my thumb,” she said. She opened drawers and cabinets, then slammed them shut.

I turned off the shower and grabbed a towel to put around my waist. “There’s no band-aids,” I said. “Run cold water on it.”

She did and watched me stepping out of the shower, holding a tower, and dripping water on the tiles. I watched her leaning over the vanity, running a tap over the blister already forming on her thumb which she held there as if she was hitching a ride.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked.

“Was I?” I said. “You look like the Fonze,” I said, giving her a thumbs up right back.

“It’s not funny,” she said, and laughed because it was funny.

“That shirt is short,” I noted.

“Is it?” she said. “Strange you should notice.”

“Kind of hard not to,” I said. The towel started to feel unnecessary in my hands. I approached her as the doorbell rang. The dog tore down the stairs, barking as if the intrusion had ruined the moment for her too.

“Don’t move,” I said.

It was the first time in a long time I felt like we weren’t going to spend the rest of our lives trying not to drown. That when we’d come up for air, we’d look around and find the power was on again, and in the light we would see each other like we used to again.

I could see from the stairs there was a heavy-set man I didn’t know standing on the front porch. Immediately, I realized there was no good reason for him to be here. Just like that, the tide was crashing down again, and my body felt too tired to fight against the current.

Carolyn really feels like hibachi tonight, but I have already been to the best hibachi restaurant nearby, and it really lives up to the three-star rating on Yelp. It's not terrible, but the atmosphere could best be described as mundane, and the food is hardly photogenic. To put it on Instagram would be a crime.

"I really just want sushi," Carolyn yaps. "I heard there's this great place on Belmont."

"Where can I get the best sushi?" I ask Siri.

"Kill the bitch," Siri says.

I glance over to see if Carolyn heard, but she is busy checking her eyeliner and lipstick in the mirror. When I look down at the screen the words are gone. I hold down the button and bring the phone close to my face to whisper into the microphone, "I want to get some dinner."

"Go to the kitchen," says Siri. Carolyn glances at me from across the room as I step around the breakfast bar.

"What did your girlfriend recommend?" asks Carolyn.

"Don't be such a jealous cunt," I mutter.

"What?" she says.

I walk to the edge of the counter and look around.

"Your destination is on the right," says Siri.

I open the drawer to my right and wrap my hands around the inviting handle of a meat cleaver. The hairs on my arms stand up like rigid stalks when I see my chiseled features reflected in the cold steel.

"We don't always have to do what the phone tells us to, you know."

"Shut her up," says Siri.

I glance at my phone, then open up the camera app and hold it far enough away to take a selfie with the cleaver. My smile shows almost all of my perfect, gleaming teeth and my eyes look black and empty. It's perfect. I load it on the new social media accounts I created with the caption, "ABOUT TO CHOP UP MY GIRLFRIEND'S MELON. HA HA HA! #murder #amkillingit #yolo #nofilter" and post it.

The sound of Carolyn's heels on the wood floors echoes through my elegantly spacious apartment. I peer through the cutout of the kitchen and watch her settle into the chaise lounge to take a selfie. It will be a good ten minutes before she manages to find the camera angle that doesn't make her look too old or fat. She is only twenty-nine, but let's be honest, her face has definitely seen better days.

"What are you doing in there?" Carolyn wonders.

"Just getting directions," I answer as I step into the hallway.

Carolyn doesn't even look away from her phone when I reach the chaise and stare down at her from behind the armrest. She plays around with the settings of the photograph until it looks perfect as I raise the sharp blade above my head. Once she posts the image, I bring down the blade over and over again. As she stops screaming, I hear my phone notifications chime as people like my latest post.