Room Service

    John slid the electronic key through the slot and pushed open the hotel room door.  Standing by the room’s small bed, he ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep breath.  It had been a long day of traveling, and he was exhausted.

    Surprised, John turned to see a woman in a cleaning uniform standing in the doorway to the bathroom.  Her long matted blonde hair concealing much of her face.  He did not know her.   

    Holding a large knife, she rushed toward him screaming, “I hate you!”

    John struggled, trying to pull her off as she stabbed his blood-soaked body until she forced him to the floor. 

    The knife sliced his hands as he unsuccessfully attempted to pull the instrument from her grip.

    “I hate you!” she continued to scream. 

    Grabbing his feet, the woman dragged his incapacitated body into the bathroom. 

    “I don’t know you,” cried John unable to lift his head, his breathing becoming heavy: his heart struggling to continue pumping.

    The woman brought the knife down again into John’s dying body.  “I hate you!”  You’re a filthy slob!  You’re all filthy slobs!”





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