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Writing > Users > Innis > 2009

Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction


The following is a piece of writing submitted by Innis on September 20, 2009
"My first piece! "

End of Vacation

My whole summer can be condensed into two minutes and fifteen seconds. That is the amount of time it takes for 15% isoflurane to anesthetize a one hundred and thirty pound women. Actually, it only took one minute and forty five seconds, the woman was my grandmother, and, by the intrinsic property of being a “grandmother”, she was very, very old.

I had good reason to murder her. The woman was a wretched old witch. I don’t mean the broom stick kind, I mean the Cruella de Vil kind. She wanted nothing but misery out me and my six siblings. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted our skins to upholster her Victorian love seat in the foyer. Somebody had to stop her. As the eldest, it was my responsibility to see the rest of the family would be put out of harms way.

I had spent the whole summer plotting the event. I kept a leather bound journal on me at all times so that I could jot down any genius flashes that would make my ploy run smoother. She would scream, “Darn it Maybelline, get your fat bum off my carpet! You’ll put divots in my berber with your two ton heals!” I would then sneak off to the bushes and write Death by an electrical charge…generated by a static charge resulting from dragging a wool sham across that precious berber carpet…

My isoflurane idea came to me when Dr. Thompson came over to tend to the horses. He used it to put the horses to sleep so he could perform whatever tests he needed. When I asked if they use isoflurane on humans and he told me no, that it was too strong and inevitably would cause the person to turn into a vegetable.

The idea was genius. I could gas her while she was trying to fall asleep. She had a very predictable night time pattern. She would make my youngest sister give her a sponge bath then have my youngest brother, Harvey, read a trashy novel aloud so she could fall asleep. I slipped her the gas as soon as Harvey left the room. She never felt the mask.

I’m writing this from my humble little cell in Angola State Prison. I should of buried the hag. Pretend she walked off and never returned. No, I had to be smart, let the medical system do the dirty work for me and blame her death on natural causes. I mean, geez, one look at the old hag and you immediately think she should of died a century ago.

I’m told she scared two grown men into cardiac arrest when her blanketed body sat up and looked around the room. I had been out celebrating when they found the gas tank in my room. The woman showed no mercy.

This letter is a plea, to whoever lives at this address, that they may finish what I have started. The house isn’t hard to find, it’s a large plantation style home at the end of Teche drive off old 190 in Baton Rouge. Just one match, that is all that I ask.

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