I strangled hope. Smug bastard annoyed me. I spring eternal; there is always room for me, he'd say (or his fanboys would moonily recite). So I grabbed his throat and fingers clenched squeezed. his eyes bulged green then withered gray. he lay dishrag limp on my lap. I hissed a firehose sigh, a contrail marking passage across some cloudless sky and felt don't laugh full of...
Persistent bastard. Kill you again if I have the chance. Maybe tomorrow.