Fred

You're sick and tired of looking at him, so you try to leave. But he's blocking the back door.

He's yelling about something and you just want it to stop.

So you look around, weighing your options. There's not much in this kitchen to work with.

You take a deep breath, hurl the pineapple at his stupid fucking face and laugh as he screams.

"Sorry for killing you, Fred," you whisper to the fruit, picking up the discarded sunglasses. You kick aside the leftover chunks of your former friend as you walk over the asshole writhing on the floor and out of the house.