All of those modest prime-time police dramas had somehow lead me to believe there wouldn't have been that much blood. Yet there I was, staring at a once-white wall, feeling like Jackson Pollack had channeled himself through my hands for one last masterpiece. However, the more I watched this masterpiece drip down my bedroom wall the more I realized what a grotesque mess this truly was, and the reality of it all unleashed a torrent of chaos into every corner of my mind. A mind that had remained, in hindsight, eerily clear up to that point.

I stepped back from the wall, and with several clumsy shuffles I sat down onto the edge of the bed. My fixed gaze released from the wall and over to the bedroom door where my wife lay slumped in the corner. Her hair had clumped together and matted itself into her now mangled features. Her arms folded reverently over the creases of her silk nightgown. I had always liked that nightgown. I bought it three years ago as a Christmas present. When I spotted it in the department store it reminded me of the summer-dress of a southern belle, standing on a wooden porch in the august sun with the light fabric dancing in the breeze and hugging her features just right. That night the nightgown brought different imagery to mind, and my new emotions regarding the thing were far less light-hearted after seeing it in such a fashion.

After I took a few moments to collect myself my mind began to clear, and my situation became much more apparent. It was time to clean up what I had done, but my planning had not brought me this far before. I moved the body into the bathtub and took to the garage for cleaning supplies. As I scrubbed that incessant gore from the carpet I ran though every body disposal method I could think of. The harder and faster I scrubbed the more desperate my ideas became. I didn't own a vat of acid, nor did I know where to find a wood chipper at this hour. My train of though repeatedly stopped on the idea of dismemberment and careful burial in various parts of the woods under the cover of night. This seemed a pretty common practice amongst those with body disposal needs, at least, I seemed to remember this one more than others.

I stepped back to observe my work only to realize how stubborn this particular house guest truly was. The defeat was overwhelming and I knew then that I needed help. But who could I trust enough to even think of mentioning this mess? I could only think of one person in the known universe that would be willing to help me in such a vile and desperate situation. My hand trembled as I picked up the phone and I felt like I was dialing for eternity. Each ring sent shock waves through my entire being, distracting me from the rhythm of my heart which I had been so keen to concentrate on. My mother picked up and upon hearing her voice I felt almost completely relieved. Without hesitating, and in a calm, cool tone I managed to tell her what had happened. After several beats of silence my mom got scared and said "you’re moving with your auntie and uncle in Bel-Air." I whistled for a cab, and when it came near, the license plate said "Fresh" and had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought, "Nah, forget it. Yo homes, to Bel-Air!" I pulled up to a house about seven or eight and I yelled to the cabby, "Yo, homes, smell you later!" Looked at my kingdom, I was finally there! To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel-Air.