ESTANISLAO CONTRERAS

"I'm getting better," thought Estanislao Contreras as he fashioned a couplet with dream and scheme. He sat alone in his apartment, ate prosciutto, drank wine and watched the closest display of perfection in his estimation--the San Antonio Spurs.

"There was one day last week when walking through the HEB that a fury overtook me thinking about my ex-wife Kali exchanging her body for dinner and drinks at the Vermillion. But with the help of a Valium and a good night's sleep, the storm passed.

"For weeks, though, I had contemplated barging into her house, brandishing a pistol and firing a barrage into her aging and collapsing body. With each shot I would scream: 'This is because you're promiscuous! This is because you're a nymphomaniac! This is because you're an adulteress! This is because you're a puta! This is because you're a slut!'

"I even went so far as going to the range, handling a Glock with an extended clip and taking target practice. I couldn't think of anything more satisfying than raping her and then murdering her, first filling her with sperm and then filling her with bullets.

"I can say unequivocally and categorically that these impulses and urges have passed. There is a faint light at the end of the tunnel that I pray indicates I am escaping her deadly spell."