Collared

It was the dullest of days. Not a single shadow seen, not a sound heard. All there was to know, was that there was a man with a pitchfork and a wife that was powerless to stop him.

It was only a matter of time. Amidst all the uncertainty, there was a strong sense of tyranny, yet only he knows the plan. With the ferocity in his eyes and the patience which takes discipline to keep, long did he wait for today.

Rusty as the pitchfork, his joints began to maneuver.

Not so swiftly.
Not so wild.

He took a deep breath, and shut his eyes one more time.

All that was left to happen was inevitable.

Little did we know, that behind his back, a dagger so sharp and shiny was in place. That if for one wrong move, he would meet his maker.

Dropping the pitchfork, he thrust the dagger in. So deep, his thumb went in.

To the delight of the lady, she took the pitchfork and beat him.

Hopeless and waiting to die, one final blow before the thin lady sang.

"Why?" he asked
"I have nothing left to say to you -"
"But -"

Before he could utter another word...

The pitchfork, right through his neck.