Cut his dick off!
Let me kill him. I’ll pay my way there and back.
You and your beautiful children are on my heart. Please, authorities, if you are reading this, reopen the investigation on those beautiful babies. The parents said they were strong swimmers. Strong swimmers do not just drown in a calm lake. People have reported hearing no screaming. I know that drowning is very quiet, but there would have been splashing at least! Somebody do something. The husband is guilty, and he will do this again. He is out for blood!
Saw the bastard on TV last night. You don’t need to be a body language expert to know he’s lying. He did it. And he’s gonna get away with it because the police are too damned incompetent to do anything about it.
BURN IN HELL Peter Woodley!!!
It’s that last comment I relate to the most. I most certainly have been burning in hell. A silent inferno enveloped me the day Isla and Henry died. I was in a dense fog right up until Simone died. Baptized with gasoline and it only enraged the flames.
It’s all been hell. My world has never stopped burning. I scroll down to the rest of Simone’s posts, pictures of our children—I’ve memorized them all, but those smiles sing out in my mind like my ol’ favorite song. Simone smiling, so happy, so perfectly beautiful in her own right, and even so the sight of her clenches my stomach, brings back all of those negative vibes she put there to begin with. Simone was a briar patch in scorching heat, and Ree is a poppy field on a comfortable day. We wouldn’t have made it. I would have had joint custody of our children, and she would have undoubtedly made a career out of poisoning them and the world against me. I should never have strayed. I should have walked into a lawyer’s office. Not a hotel room. I should have thought it through with my bigger head, not buried it between the thighs of some poor woman. Loretta, who, too, was brutally murdered.
A vat of acid explodes inside the pit of my stomach. My flames are contagious. I have burned so many worlds to the ground, I should be imprisoned for the safety of others.
I scroll down even farther, down past the season of pain. I watch the dates, a demonic timestamp of the downfall of my being.
A flicker of a sad smile comes and goes.
Past the memes and general updates about the minutia of life a post catches me off guard.
I lean in to get a better look at what my wife had to say, and my heart stops cold.
