Little old ladies

All I can say is never trust little old ladies.

There I was, sat in a room with this old dear who looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Tiny thing, wouldn’t reach my waist if I stood up. Thick white hair, blue eyes and makeup that wasn’t really put on that well. Looked proper innocent she did, peering over the top of those half glasses, what are they called? Oh yeah, half-moon glasses. Proper dowdy, all twin set and pearls, frumpy old lady. Know what I mean?

Well, she was asking me about my life and stuff. Didn’t matter what I said, she weren’t bothered. I swore, used words I’d not use to my own family and she ignored them. The questions seemed really random, nothing to do with what had happened, the reason that I was there.

As if we was just old friends chatting over times past. Think she must have been planning it all along. Family, friends, football. You name it, we nattered about it. Turns out she’s a Chelsea fan as well and knew all the teams going back to when I was born. The craic of talking footie with some old dear really took me by surprise. If only my brother had been as knowledgeable. He was too thick to even notice when the Blues had won the Championship.

We had tea and biscuits too. Sometimes we stopped so I could go outside to have a ciggie, didn’t matter really. Funny how time goes past when you really are enjoying yourself. It’s only afterwards I understood where she was leading me, the clever cow.

We was sitting there discussing next season’s prospects when she leaned forward and her voice dropped to a whisper.

“What was…..” she said, coughing over the last bit.

I couldn’t hear her so asked her to speak up.

“I was just idly wondering,” she said a little louder this time, “I’ve always wanted to know. What’s it like…?”

She sat there, waving her hands around vaguely, looking up at the ceiling and then at me.

“What’s it like… you know? What does it feel like to k….” she stopped mid-word.

So comfortable was I by then, I filled in the bloody blank didn’t I? Stupid, stupid mistake!

“Kill! Oh it’s amazing. The power… the…”

No vague look now. She gazed at me. No, she looked like a hawk that’s just grabbed its prey. Keen and satisfied. Gotcha!

The door opened and they took me away.

This morning I had my last meal. Anything I wanted they said. Big Mac, fries and a glass of champagne. It was great.

Shame she couldn’t have joined me: we could have talked about football again. It would have taken away the fear of what’s to come.

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