Disclaimer: Don't own them...I'd be scared to!

Omg, this took so long! Sorry! I'm back in the swing of things, so here we go. And, um, I think I'll try to write out the Hungarian.


Pop, six, squish, uh-oh, Cicero, Lipschitz

Now I'm standing in the kitchen,

Carving up a chicken for dinner,

Minding my own business.

It was quite a normal day, if I may so myself. I was routinely fixing dinner. Wilbur, my husband, would be home in an hour or so. We were the stereotypical American family.

I should mention that I have never felt true happiness, felt utter joy flow through my veins.

You see, I married Wilbur when I was eighteen. I was never free to flirt and meander with others. Don't get me wrong, I love Wilbur, but every day he'll ask if I am being faithful. I don't know why, but the tall man I call "darling" keeps my attention.

My mother once said that the appearance of others is opposite their feelings. I never understood the true meaning of the quote. Wilbur would glare at me when I, simple June, would ask him. I may not have been the prettiest, the smartest, or the most athletic, but I wasn't as dumb as a rock. Insisting that he would never not love me, I forever evaded the obvious truth, looking around the words for some hidden meaning. So, seeing Wilbur burst through the door, an hour early, was a shock.

In storms my husband, Wilbur, in a jealous rage

Pointing a finger at me, his eyes wide and menacing, he whispered, "You's cheating."

I was terrified. This wasn't my loving, caring Wilbur. This thing in front of me was an insane creature, poised to kill at any movement. I hadn't even made love to anyone in months.

Gulping, I shakily answered, "No, I ain't."

With a loud gulp of breath, he inhaled and shouted, "You've been screwing the milk man!"

"You've been screwing the milk man!" he says

He was crazy

He started to approach me, each step like a thunderous echo on the linoleum floor. I stumbled back for every step he took. Gasping, I hit the counter and tightly shut my eyes.

Wilbur stopped.

Opening my eyes, I saw Wilbur turn around, clenching his fists at his side.

It was short-lived, for he whipped around and, with a monstrous roar, yelled, "You've been screwing the milk man!"

And he kept on screaming, "You've been screwing the milk man!"

He charged at me, sprinting with all of his might. I shrieked and felt behing me. The lukewarm chicken was at my fingertips, and further inspection found the cold hilt of a butcher knife. I yanked it out and firmly held it out it front of me.

"Now you see here, Wilbur! I AM NO-" I started to yell.

But Wilbur kept coming, and I lunged, thrusting my knife toward his stomach.

And then he ran into my knife

He ran up until the hilt prevented him from going any further.

A few moments passed, and then he spit blood out. Giving me a toothy, crimson stained smile, he muttered, "If I go down, you're coming with me!"

Momma was right.

I don't know what I saw in this man, but that set me off. I grabbed the knife and jerkily pulled it out of him. Blood gushed out of his gaping mouth. I plunged the knife back into him, hitting different spots every time. A myriad of red splattered on to my hands, drenching both mine and Wilbur's clothes.

He ran into my knife ten times.

Words couldn't describe the euphoric feeling in me. I was exterminating this unwanted man from the earth. I could eat, sleep, and talk how I wanted to!

I was free!

The blaring sirens outside ceased my endless tirade once and for all.


Then, at prison, I met Liz and Annie. They started it once more.

They ignited me again.

A bit short. I couldn't really connect with June, and being that connection was the key to writing this, I struggled. Oh well! R and R!