Huh. Well, that couldn’t be quantified as a success. Even by the most liberal of definitions.

He looked at the dead body. Then he looked that the hand in his hand, neatly severed above the wrist, gun held in place by rigor mortis. He had no idea he was that strong.

At least he no longer had to worry about his fingerprints appearing on the murder weapon. He held his hand flat, weighing the hand and gun. Wondering if the weight came from the gun or from what was wrapped around it.

But what to do with it? He couldn’t take it with him. He looked around and saw it. Perfect. Especially with his morbid sense of humour.

He approached the mailbox.