Perfect Poison

I’ve been working as a companion for years, assisting the elderly and handicapped, and the sad and lonely. Normally, I like it. But Mrs. Cove? That old bat got under my skin the moment I met her, and after six months, our dying relationship hasn’t improved. Everyday, it’s something new. “That’s wrong!!” “Do this!” “Take me here!” “My blood sugar!” Her nagging and yelling and screaming and crying never seem to cease! And always, there’s that disapproving stare. Like she has the right to look down on me! Lady, being old doesn’t equate to being wise and sophisticated! I’ve had enough! My hands are clenched into fists as I leave on a Monday evening. Tomorrow, I say. Tomorrow, I’ll do it.

The police came exactly one month after I made up my mind. What they saw was an old woman with too much sugar in her system, and a distraught nurse who came one morning to find her employer dead, killed by tiny crystals that can be found in every home in America. Perfect poison. Now, here’s a lesson to you all: use Splenda.

View this story's 3 comments.