Day XXXllI

The butcher shop

“I’ll show dem bastids…come to mama!” she thought to herself.

     Joe didn’t know she was home, he had seen her leave, but not return. Like a cat, he quickly, and silently climbed the fire escape. When he got to her window, it was slightly ajar at the bottom, so he reached in to force it open. He knew from the last time there was a latch at the bottom. As he moved his hand from side to side, searching for it, all he remembers was hearing was a resounding

     “Whaaaaaaaaack!”

     Everybody in the nabe remembered a soul shaking, unerving

     Yaaaaaaaaaawhooooooooooooooollll!”

     It was a bone chilling howl that reverberated through out the back yards. People opened their windows in time to see Joe howling, as he scrambled down the fire escape, blood gushing into the air from his hand, and trailing behind him down the black iron stairs.

     “Ya come back hea ya thieving bastid!” she screamed out of her window, as she swung her shiny, blood dripping cleaver in the air.

     Blood was every where, dripping down the stairs, off her window sill, and people thought somebody had been killed. Joe made it down to the yards below, where the cops were waiting for him. He was holding his hand, and crying.

     “She chopped my facking hand off!” he screamed.

     “Soives ya wite punk!” one muttered.

     Lucky for him it was summer time, and it was warm. The cops managed to take his shirt off, and wrapped it around his hand. Then they took him to Lincoln hospital, at the time known as the butcher shop. When the detectives questioned her, Donnya Anna, with a big grin, told them how she slammed her cleaver down on his thieving hand.