Hate by Martin Cid

He is calmed, always calmed. It’s not necessary to be a monster to press the button… but it would help.
‘Who will pick up the corpses?’
‘Someone will do, there’s always someone to do that”.
Slowly, he pressed the button.
First time is always better.
No feelings, no hate, no smile.
The prisoner is dead.
                            Smoke.

Desperate Lady? by Martin Cid

Lipstick on, she draw a perfect figure of love with the smoke of the cigarette and she stands up for a simple minute of plenty glory.
‘No more chances, Martin’.
Then, just a smile, just a goodbye, last and first goodbye.
Knife is still warm.
Near the sideboard, he is dead.
Smoke.

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