I may have mentioned from time to time how crazy it is around here. Lest you think I alone am a touch unstable, let me just reassure you that all my friends are crazy too. Not so long ago, a bunch of us moms were sitting in the BX on a Saturday when all the dads were working AGAIN, having lunch and watching the kids whale on each other in the play area.
I'm not exactly sure how we started talking about clever ways to kill someone, but I'm pretty certain it was right after I related my story about how I had just broken the lid to the my stone rice cooker by slamming it down after Lloyd ate both ends of the bread I had just made AND mashed it down when he was cutting it, damn him! Oh wait- I was supposed to be telling you how everyone else is crazy, but that only makes me sounds nuts. Hmmm. You'll just have to trust me, the rest of them are at least as wacko as me. Really, it's true. I promise!
So, anyway, we had a loud and inappropriate conversation about clever murder weapons, which reminded me of some short stories I had read. I was thinking there was a Sherlock Holmes story about an icicle murder, so I did a Google search for it. This is what I found. Can you believe these people sit around looking for ways to kill someone? Freaks.
The other one I thought of was Lamb to the Slaughter by Roald Dahl, who is quite famous for his (often somewhat deranged) children's stories. It's an elegant little tale about a woman who kills her husband with his own supper and you can read it here.
Then, because I have too much time on my hands, and I'm just a little bit close to the edge, I started thinking about some other memorable short stories: 'A Rose for Emily', by William Faulkner, can be read here, and 'The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas' by Ursula K. LeGuin can be read here. 'The Picnic at Hanging Rock' is a novel and a film, but it's stuck with me, too, and you can read about it here. Thanks, AP English! Thanks, too, for the day I dressed up as the Canterbury Cathedral for Chaucer day. That box was really comfy.
As I post this, I notice these stories that have remained with me for decades have something in common- they are just a little bit twisted. Now that I think about it, maybe I should post some of my own twisted fiction. I could post the (totally imaginary, made-up, not the least bit autobiographical) fictional story about how Lloyd made me so mad when he ate the best part of the bread and mashed it down that I cleverly... Oh, never mind. Maybe it's not such a great idea.