He washed the mess off his gloved hands and shuffled towards the kitchen counter to pick up a ceramic bowl. He unstoppered a carton of milk he took from the fridge and half emptied the creamy content into the bowl. This was the part he relished most about his fortnightly ritual; sitting in the kitchen, eating cornflakes.
He sat there on a high stool and enjoyed his bowl of snack, flipping through TV channels without any enthusiasm.
“Nothing interesting on TV as usual.”
He turned to glance at the body sprawled lifeless on the floor in the adjoining room, blood seeping into the Persian rug.
Leaving the cornflakes unfinished, he made his way of out the apartment humming pleasantly to himself. He couldn’t wait to read the next day’s news headlines:
“‘CEREAL KILLER’ STRIKES AGAIN!”