The Axe

I didn't like Craig. He had voted for Trump. But many did. And some of them were ok. I mean, they lent you their tractor and drove you home when you were drunk. Like Jack. Craig, however, clumped through my garden, trampled the flowers and grinned cheekily at me. I was standing in the front door. Next to me, an axe was leaning against the wall. I took the axe and yelled „Hey Craig! This is for Trump!“ I've always been a good thrower. Shortly after, the thing was stuck in Craig's fucking skull. The saying with Trump was a lie, of course. To each his opinion, was my motto, everyone as he likes. Then I went to the barn. Jack was waiting for the tractor.

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