I'd finally stopped. Really. I had. I had put it all behind me, and I hadn't even seriously considered it in months. I know they say that no one ever just stops, but I'm different. I have a great deal of self control, and I never would have done it again if he hadn't made me.

I was walking down the road on a summer morning, getting my fresh air and sunshine. I have always believed that lack of exercise is a terrible vice, and I keep myself reasonably fit with my daily strolls.

It was a bright day, and it was around ten ''o clock on a Sunday morning. Several cars passed by, carrying folks in their dress clothes to church. I'd wave at them, and they would wave at me; it was all very civilized and perfectly normal.

Then he showed up, driving slowly past me again and again. Making cat calls and lewd remarks. Wanting a date, a phone number, something. I was very polite as I rebuffed his advances. I didn't use course language, I didn't yell or scream, but still he kept on and on.

I was getting nervous, wishing he would leave. leave before something happened, but NO, he kept it up. Kept pushing it and pushing it, and pushing it some more.

That's when it happened. I didn't mean to, but I did. I flagged him over and leaned casualy through his car window.

I heard myself flirting with him, felt my smile turn coy and my eyelashes flutter. All the while I was slowly reaching into my pocket for the box cutter I knew would be there, even though I hadn't needed it in ages.

Without thought, without intent, my hand flashed up and I drew the box cutter across his throat. The cut was deep, and he could only make choked, gurgling sounds as he clasped his hands over the wound.

I sighed deeply feeling a wave of depression break over me. I had given it up, I really had.

So you see, it was all his fault, and now I have to waste most of my Sunday, burying him with the others.

İNightUnfolding 2004