Slamming the front door, Morris Pritchard left his house in a fit of naked rage. He had just had another one of those morning arguements with his wife Mary, the kind of arguement that made him eager to leave the house and go to a job he hated. Morris Pritchard walked down the lonely street, watching for any figures in the darkness that might be waiting for the likes of him at 3:00 a.m. Morris Pritchard kept to the left-side or best lit side of Appleton Avenue until he could cross on Alamitos and walk over to Broadway. The homosexual hookers gave way to heterosexual ladies of the night, which Morris found amusing. It was the alcoholics and drug addicts in the gutters and shadows that bothered this angry man. Who could tell what some strung-out drug fiend might do in desperation, he wondered as he walked towards Long Beach Boulevard. And then this little man began to think about his plight and how he was leaving a home-life he hated for a job in Vernon that he hated even more.

Morris Pritchard had worked as an engineer until he was laid-off about a year ago, now he worked at a soda-pop company where he felt lucky to be able to sweep the floors. People at the plant would talk to this little, un-impressive man as if he were a child. It wasn't their fault, no-one knew of Morris Pritchard's backround... no-one would believe it! With each step, Morris grew angrier with his lot in life. With each moment, Morris felt hatred for the life he was leading.

Waiting at the bus stop, Morris Pritchard stood next to an assortment of filthy, homeless men. He looked at the old man to his left, feeling a chill as he shuddered at the thought that he could one day end-up like that. He looked to his right and a young man, about twenty-five (25) years old caught his glance and asked: 'Can you spare some change for the bus?' Morris looked away and didn't answer, he couldn't have spared the change anyway. The bus came, the old man got on, the young begger climbed aboard, and the other homeless people followed... Morris Pritchard started back for his house, unable to bare the thought of another hour and a half ride near these smelly, filthy, disgusting people of the night so that he could sweep floors for five dollars an hour.

Frustrated, angry, and a little crazed... Morris Pritchard unlocked the door to his house. Slowly he crept to the kitchen, he opens a drawer, a sliver of moon light illuminating his twisted face. He makes his way into the bedroom he shares with his wife of ten years and he jumps up in the air, crashing down and stabbing Mary over and over again! Blood spurts and gushes, leaks and pours onto the walls, the floor, the bed, the sheets and blankets! Pink flesh, red meat, liquid blood... Morris sees none of it as he goes insane!

Covered in blood, clutching a butcher knife in his hand, the little man leaves his house. He goes out on the street where a homosexual prostitute catches sight of him. Leaning out of the shadowy protection afforded by a storefront doorway, the man exclaims: 'Shi...' He doesn't finish his exclamation before Morris Pritchard plants his knife in the gay man's skull. He twists the blade in the eye socket, popping-out his victim's eye-ball! He pulls out his blade, the man falls to the ground, and Morris wipes the grey matter of the prostitutes' brain on his blood drenched pants.

Morris Pritchard has snapped, he knows he's snapped... but, he doesn't care as he drives on to find someone else he deems unfit to live. A girl, barely seventeen (17) years old is the next to meet this self appointed executioner. Nancy is her name, and she's been 'working' the streets for about three (3) years. Nancy is so high on drugs that she doesn't notice his bloody appearance. 'Looking for a good time'; she asks. Her eyes focus too late as Morris raises his knife! He slashes, he cuts, he stabs and slashes so quickly that Nancy can not scream, she can not yell, she can not do anything except to gurggle as her blood flows from her warm body. She bleeds to death, she drowns on her own blood, both at the same time. As the puddle of thick, rich, hot blood grows under her, Morris Pritchard walks another block.

In the pre-dawn darkness, a homeless man, shivering in an alleyway asks for some change. He holds out his calloused and dirty hand. Morris answers with a stroke of his silver blade. The man is stunned as his hand is sliced from his wrist! He watches in horror as the hand falls to the street and blood spurts from his wrist. His eyes widen as Morris Pritchard steps up to finish his work. Morris bends down with a grin, he sticks his knife deep into the poor man's empty stomach! He pulls up on the blade and watches the life drain from this homeless man's body. Morris grins again.

The sun starts to show on the distant horizon. Morris Pritchard takes a walk back home. He takes the remains of his wife out into the garden and plants her next to her favorite flowers. 'She'd like that'; he thinks with a crazy kind of a grin. He spends the better part of the day cleaning his house, washing his laundry and the bedroom rugs. Morris Pritchard showers and washes his knife.

The police never come to question Morris Pritchard. He would never be a suspect. Mary, his wife had no friends, so no-one notices her dissapearence. As for the others, no-one cares much. Morris did have to explain why he took the day off from a job he hated so much, he told them he had to take car of some 'personal business'!

Since this crazy night, Morris has moved and changed his name... but every now and again he takes out his knife and gets rid of all the frustration that years of being humiliated sweeping floors and being talked down to has brought to bare on this poor little man. He lives in a city very much like yours and in a house very much like your neighbors! He's a good reason to stay in at night! Pleasant dreams!

Created: October 29, 1999r.
Last Updated: May 23, 2005r.