Micro-fiction: The Killing of Bill

I wrote this short piece in a Facebook comment in response to a post about Bill O’Reilly’s latest assault on historical accuracy — Killing the Rising Sun. My friend Mike said he’d rather read Killing O’Reilly, so I obliged.

It was foggy that night when Bill drew the bath. Tabatha was in the other room, dreading what she knew came next. She entered the steamy bathroom, saw the loofah — and her chance. As Bill turned off the spigot and removed his robe, Tabatha struck. It was lightning quick. Bill, normally so boastful, a loudmouth who few could silence, found his voice muffled, his windpipe obstructed by something malleable, but rough and soapy. It was the loofah, the damned loofah, he always knew it would be the loofah. As he lie motionless on the wet tile, Tabatha exhaled, smiled for the first time in a long time. It was over. The reign of terror was over. He would be a factor no more.

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Author: hankkalet

Hank Kalet is a poet and freelance journalist. He is the economic needs reporter for NJ Spotlight, teaches journalism at Rutgers University and writing at Middlesex County College and Brookdale Community College. He writes a semi-monthly column for the Progressive Populist. He is a lifelong fan of the New York Mets and New York Knicks, drinks too much coffee and attends as many Bruce Springsteen concerts as his meager finances will allow. He lives in South Brunswick with his wife Annie. View all posts by hankkalet