Remorse

Today I am up to the hilt since early morning filled with guilt. Still sleep-lagged wandered to the shower at that ungodly twilight hour a movement, slight, caught my left eye which meant that one of us must die. Since I, in this house am the coach I figured that the best approach might be to take initiative that soon the fellow would be stiff. Aunt Hulda told me years ago that roaches scurry to and fro in search for food and even drink but give them water and they'll sink. So, providence had placed me here near source of water, which was sheer good luck to those whom God regards as fit to get his sweet rewards, and if you ask I think that God does find those creatures rather odd although he made them with his hands I doubt today he understands what happened in Creation Week. The roach is not the only freak of course, but think on this a bit imagine that you managed it this making of so many species you would produce some funny faeces if you don't mind colloquial French. Well, roach was crawling down the bench the aim was clearly to conceal his ugly mug in this hot Spiel. A waterglass was filled with speed in this my hour of great need and thrown at him with utmost grace you should have seen his frozen face! His death was quick, I can attest that he, the uninvited guest did only suffer heavy terror deservedly and not in error. But in the end, there is that nagging self-doubt, replaced by nascent bragging but you and I know that remorse is, in a way, just a dead horse.