Better Late Than Never

Francois looks up at me as I hurry up the stairs and I can see the annoyance on his face.

“Glad you could join us. We almost got started without you,” he grumbles, his words thick with sarcasm.

“Sorry, one of those mornings. The commotion outside kept me up half the night, and I swear the bells rang an hour late this morning. And then I couldn’t find my mask…”

“I’m not really in the mood to hear it,” Francois said, turning his head away from me.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” I plead. “Better late than never, you know.”

He huffs, and although I can’t see it, I’m sure he’s rolling his eyes. “On this occasion, I’m not sure I agree.”

I sigh.

Some people are just determined to be miserable. Shrugging, I raise my axe, and, with one heavy swing, lop off Francois’ head.