"That bitch!" the derranged woman yelled as she raved around her room. She was sweating profusely and had ripped out large chunks of her scrangled hair in a blind rage.
"Calm down... you need to handle this like an adult," her agent reasoned; making an attempt to comfort her.
"She just makes me so damn pissed..." the woman whimpered as she came back to reality. "She gets anything she wants, any part in a movie, any guest appearance... just for that 'cute' little face. I'm twice as good an actor as her! She probably just screws all the casting agents. Why can't I just once get a better part than her?
"I'm sure it'll come soon, Tasha, just be patient. All she has is luck." Tasha's agent put his arm around her, comforting her as she cried.
"Okay, I'm alright. Just leave me alone for a while."
"Sure thing... I'll call you," the agent replied as he left her dressing room, quietly shutting her door on his way out. Tasha just sat at her vanity with her face in her hands. Tears were flowing out from between her fingers, but they were not tears of sadness, they were tears of hatred. Hatred for her rival actress... Jacquelin Riveira.
Jacquelin could have any part she ever wanted. She was actually a very terrible actress; just very pretty, and very good in bed. It was true, she had been around with alot of directors... just to get a part. She was more than intent with her life, everything went exactly as she wanted it to. At the same time, Tasha's money was running short as she struggled even to get a part as an extra.
The door of Tasha's dressing room abruptly flew open, and a sexy, slender figure stood at the doorway. Even though her hair was in curlers and she had cucumber sauce on her face, she could turn any man on in a second. Yes, it was Jacquelin alright, as happy as ever and no doubt the carrier of news.
"Guess what?" Jacquelin cheerfully questioned.
"What the hell do you want?" Tasha mumbled under her breath. She was struggling not to tear Jacquelins hair out right then.
Jacquelin came up to Tasha and grasped her hand in joy. "I just got a lead part in the new play with Thomas Stone!"
"What?! How dare you barge into my room and say that when you knew damn well I wanted that part! Get the hell out of my room!" Tasha screamed directly into Jacquelin's face.
"I thought you were my friend..." Jacquelin replied in a sour tone. She simply turned around and left. And the moment she left the room, she didn't have a second thought. She just put on another smile and went to tell another "friend."
At that time, Tasha was nearly ready to kill. Steam was still escaping from her ears as she plotted a punishment for Jacquelin. She knew deep inside her heart that Jacqueling really did nothing wrong, unless you count screwing the director. None the less, Tasha concluded that Jacquelin needed to be punished.
She went over to her small kitchen and started boiling a pot of water. With one hand she hastily dunked a bag of tea into the pot, and with the other she reached for the medicine cabinet. Searching desperatley for anything that might suffice as a poison, she finally chose her extra strength sleeping pills. She took about five pills and crushed them into a fine power.
When the tea was finished, she poured two cups. Using a folded peice of paper to funnell the poison into one cup, she slowly stirred until it was one constancy. Satisfied with the tea as a disguise for her final plot, she kept the cup of poison in her right hand. With her left hand she made an attempt to fix her hair and wipe off her tears. Trying to put on a smile, she grabs the other cup and leaves the room. She knows that Jacquelin's room is three doors down on the left, because she has thought about breaking in and killing her since the day they met.
She stops at the door and is forced to knock it with her forehead, since she has no free hands. Opening the door from the inside reveals that cute little face of Jacquelin. Tahsa is now using all of her will power not to throw down the tea and strangle her to death. Instead she keeps that makeshift smile on her face.
"Oh hi!" Jacquelin gleefully said, "I knew you would come to your senses."
"Yeah, I guess I over reacted, so I just came over to say I was sorry and congradulate you. Look, I made you some tea."
"Oh my... I knew you had that good person in you, come on in." Jacquelin welcomes Tasha and they sit down next to eachother on her sofa. Tahsa makes sure to hand Jacquelin the correct cup. Smiling at eachother, they both take a small sip. A small sip is all that is needed.
Tasha feels a certain tingling in her spine, a tingling like nothing else, and the nerves throughout her body start to convulse. She clasps her heart as it pumps so violently it almost explodes, and she falls to the floor. Her last action before death is caughing up a gallon of blood and her life comes to an abrupt end.
Tahsa had purposly drank that poisoned cup, she planned it out since she first made the tea. She couldn't find it inside herself to kill another person, but Jacquelin still was punished. When the police investigated they concluded that Jacquelin had committed a homicide. She had poisoned her "rival" in first degree murder when she got in the way of buisness.
And Tasha got away clean free, but she never got to see that pretty little face of Jacquelin... rott away while serving out her life sentence.

Through the corner of my eye, I would barely be able to make out the sun. But on this particular night, the remnants of LSD being slowly absorbed on my tongue has sharpened my vision. To my far right is a quite suspicious looking silhouette; posed in such a way that it should and does catch my attention. Dressed thoroughly in navy blue, the figure outstretches one arm in my general direction. A nice old woman? No. My ex-girlfriend crawling back to me? No. A rival gang member with the intention of splattering my brain on the carpet? Bingo. With all this information registering in a mere fraction of a split second, a blinding loud flash jerks my head toward the figure; seeing my second, maybe third worst horror. One bullet I can almost see as it enters the side of my skull, breaking its way through the little bone on the edge of the eye socket. Through my relaxed shock I can feel quarts of blood splashing between my fingers and onto the floor. The second bullet directly penetrates my solar plexus, gracefully traveling through my chest and lodging itself snugly between two disks in my spine. Of course none of these flesh wounds hurt to the least; as is the liquid pumping through my veins is about twenty percent blood, eighty percent drugs of various sorts. Though one of my eyes is dislodged and currently dangling at mouth level by the retinal nerves, the other one dilates to the point of tension during a conscious blackout. My toes become twisted and I begin to fall over... but no, I can’t even die in peace... I smack the shit out of my forehead on the coffee table before I’m all the way down. That particular clash ruptures the bullet embedded in my skull. The edge of the coffee table is jutted into my eye socket, causing a massive crack in my skull to travel from the bullet to the back of my head as I plummet to the floor. The jagged crack tears off my scalp and small afro, exposing my brain. As my head finally contacts the floor, my brain is shaken lose from it’s spinal attachments, and it is flung strait out of my skull, splattering into mush all over my fine carpet. I rotate my feasible eye just far enough to see that bitch ass mutha’ jump in his Buick and drive back over to the East side. Wait a God damn minute! How am I supposed to be able to move my eye if my brain was just conveniently removed from my head? As time speeds up to it's normal rate, I reach up and feel the side of my head, which is supposed to be missing. Yet my brain is fully intact, and both eyes in their correct sockets. The same phenomena has occurred in my chest, which only ten seconds ago was leaking vital fluids filled with vital drugs. Rising to my feet, the ingenious mixture of uppers and downers in my system gets my memory serving me. It has been no more than twenty seconds since I first noticed the attacker. Yet by some natural or supernatural means, I am in perfect health, and I have left my house... or my house has left me. Knowing what the darkest of darkness is cannot be experienced with humanly vision. Where I am now is truly dark. Darker than pitch black; less light than no light at all. But if I am where I think I am, the obvious place that I should be, I do not need my earthly eyes to see. Brief motions towards my front indicate another presence, but I feel that in this holy or unholy place, it would be improper for me to use my usual "Who da fuck is dat?" remarks.
"State your name and presence," an echoing voice nags from the blackness.
"Yeh, uh... mah' names G-Dogg... and I got a cap busted in mah' ass... and uh... what the hell is going on!?" I tried to hold that last comment back, but it slipped on purpose.
"Well G-Dogg, your dead... and your a crazy bastard." The voice is that of a lazy man, a man that is grossly sick of his job and the people he has to work with.
"You're going to heaven or hell, so be nice." It doesn't surprise me to the least that this man can say anything he wants and I am still shit between his toes. I can hear rustling of paper, like that of a book. I envision him as a man who slouches in uncomfortable chair, supporting his head with his hand, while the free hand flips pages in a furniture magazine. Hating his job more with each passing day, and valuing his "life" less at an even faster rate. Probably the only fun he ever gets is sending people to hell, maybe even sending them to hell just for fun. And that's no good at all, for I'm the type of person that would go to hell in the first place. The golden cross dangling from my chain necklace means nothing to me, I would never have guessed that all this really exists. And with the lack of light, the voice would not even be able to see the backs of his eyelids, let alone the glimmer from my fine jewelry.
"So what now?" I question to the blackness. "Oh, your still here?" the voice replied in an annoyed tone.
"Well, I reviewed a few of your personal statistics... and your one crazy ass gangster. You know, killing people and pimping won't earn most people a way into heaven."
"So I have to go to hell?"
"Afraid so... that's why they pay me."
"Damn! Dis is Whack!"
"But you... I kind of like you," the voice proclaimed as I felt my heart skip a beat in excitement. "And since you caught me on a good day, I'm gonna be lenient. G-Dogg, you get to spend the rest of eternity... in hell; melting in the infernos of the never ending abyss of pain and suffering... blah, blah, blah."
"What!? I thought you were going to be lenient?!"
"No... I considered it, and decided not to."
"That ain't fair!"
"Life after death isn't fair," the voice yawns while flipping another page.
Through the corner of that dreadful eye of mine, two dim lights flicker on, each illuminating a separate door on either side of the voice. Each door is labeled with a small pictogram. The one on the left is of a restroom style man, except that he has two small horns and a pointed tail. The one on the right I need not bother to explain, as is I have already assumed it goes to heaven.
"Security, please escort Mr. G-Dogg to Infernicus," the voice demands calmly.
"What's dat?" I ask with hopes it might not be hell.
"Hell, it means hell... you dumb peice of crap."
I sense another presence behind me, approaching steadily. I jerk my head around quick enough to see another door being illuminated and briskly swinging open. Two small, zombie type men come out, each dressed like a Zen monk. Following closely behind them is Mr. Death himself; looking just as expected. (However, no one was ever really clear about what shoes the Grim Reaper wears. I notice that he wears fine leather loafers, and each golden buckle is equipped with a small decorative skull.) I think that the Grim Reaper is only there if I try to get feisty, because he remains relaxed while the two small men grab my wrists. My instant reaction is to pull away, and when the Reaper raises his Scythe I act as quick as a jack rabbit. I lunge a fierce kick directly into the Reapers groin region, cracking his "bone" in two and shattering his self esteem. As he falls on his side, crying like a baby girl, he conveniently drops his scythe into my grasp. With knowledge of my intentions, the smaller men back down and let me proceed. But since my blood lust is at a peak right now, I attack them anyway. I swing the blade in an upward motion; the point traveling up from his anus along his spine. The tip catches an opening between two of his ribs, and when I use all of my force to hurl the blade in the other direction, his spinal cord and rib cage is brutally ripped from his body and flung across the room. His body immediatly falls into a pile of bloody flesh, with random internal organs falling outand still thuding at their leisure. Being satisfied with one midgit at the constancy of soup,I move on the the other. While he is trying to escape, I violently grab his collar bone, yanking him towards me. However, I put a little to much strength into that tug, and rip thepoor guys arm off. Thrashing around his bloody stump, the little man whimpers and apparently shits his pants. So, knowing me, I have to do the right thing; put him out of his misery in the most painful way possible. I jab my index and pinky fingers into his eyeballs, popping them both on contact. Then, with a slow, gruesom backwards motion, I pull the top of his skull off, leaving his bloody brain dangling by its spinal connections. I completely yank the brain off, but that's not enough for me. Yanking off his robe, I shove the brain straight up his ass. While I'm busy laughing at the short little bastard scream, he coughs up a bloody kidney and spits it at me. Just for that, I feircly tear off both of his teeny legs, and repeatedly pound them into his feeble body until there is nothing left but a pulp of human organs. Content with my work, I run through the door through which the midgits came from.
"Well I'll be damned, a light at the end of the tunnel," I thought to myself. I don't want to be like one of those morons in the National Enquirer, but the light has got to be better than hell. My legs become like hurricanes carrying me towards the light. Once I reach it, an overwhelming sensation of lucidity takes me to a place better than hell or heaven, my body. I can once again feel hot breath on my lips and that itch I always have that never seems to go away. I know now that I am among the living. The entire ordeal MUST have been just a hallucination. Even if it wasn't, I don't care; I am back and I love it. I am so overcome with relief and joy that I don't even notice the blinding head ache I have. As time once again speeds up, I reach up to feel my head. When all I find is a dismembered skull and an eye dangling from it's socket, I cringe that final cringe... and die.