"Cheerful stuff on the news these days," my dad commented as I walked past him. He was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, watching the 7:30 news. I walked over to him and watched over his shoulder. He was eating curry, and a beer was held in his left hand. Normally I would have looked for an excuse to argue, but he was right. The story was an in-depth look at a 16-year-old girl whose boyfriends had been murdered one-by-one by an unknown serial killer. The girl herself was a beauty. I prided myself in the fact that my girlfriend was one of the best, but Leigh was outclassed on several levels by the girl who was on the TV. Her tear-stained face was shown with microphone shoved abruptly in front of her face, whimpering about how alone and scared she felt. Her eyes were so blue and fathomless that I was almost too entranced to look into them.
Miss Ellie
How to Be a Serial Killer
A modern TV dinner with Salisbury steak and macaro...Almost. She was a blonde to die for. I could almost understand her later boyfriends going out with her, even though they must have noticed that something was going on.
"Your dinner's on the table," my dad told me. I jumped. I ripped my eyes from the TV. "Huh?" I blurted out.
"Your dinner is on the kitchen table", my dad repeated, a distinct barely concealed grin evident on his face. I went into the kitchen and got dinner. My mother was away. If she was here, then you could be sure that we would not be eating TV dinners; we would be having "pleasant" conversation at the dinner table. I was tempted to grab a beer from the fridge for myself (hell, I'm only two years away from my 18th birthday after all) then decided...