The time is night, all of the lights inside are on, producing a humming dissonance. " Can you hear that? ", a voice spoken softly says. " I think it may be a train, in the distance." The words sifted through the stagnant air like butter as they gently landed on his ears. She, as in Coley, with eyes so brown you could get lost, a voice so sweet you could get cavities, and a person so divine you could get chills. He, as in the man she was conning. You see, Coley isn't just pretty and nice, she's also the con artist. The best. This time she had targeted a Mr. Johns, for a four hundred-thirty three thousand, and ninety-five dollar. And seventeen cents. - trust fund from mommy and daddy.
The year is Nineteen hundred and seventy seven, and it was Christmas, which always meant great money for pretty Coley. " So what shall we have for dinner darling?" Coley spoke, in a sarcastic manner so subtle, Mr. Johns didn't detect. " Oh, I suppose a prime-rib will do." Mr. Johns said, with a dash of eagerness. Unbeknownst to Mr. Johns, pretty Coley took out a life insurance police on him the week prior, for exactly four hundred thirty-three thousand, ninety five dollars AND seventeen cents.
Coley prepared the steak, with all of the fixin's, including a lethal dose of plutoniom two-ten, an illegal radioactive isotope, that is 250,000 times more potent than the uranium in the A-bomb that leveled Hiroshima. It does not break down cells until five or six days after the victim is irradiated, breaking down skin cells at first, then muscle tissure, eventually decaying the bone, all whilst the victim screams in agony for an entire four weeks, ultimately being Mr. Johns' untimely death.
Pretty Coley shed the tears at the funeral, but was all smiles at the bank, and Mr. Johns died with a smile on his face...
I'm tired.
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