Bathroom Monologue: Grim? Yes, please.

Harold tried to fit his wife's severed arm in the freezer, but there was too much stuff in there. Frowning, he opened the refrigerator. Tonight was leftover night, so there was ample room, but Harold worried that it wouldn't keep the limb cool enough. He nibbled his lip uncomfortably. For a moment, he considered going back and asking them what to do. But no, that was stupid. It wasn't like they'd let him back in the room. Not after what he'd done. So Harold shut the fridge and began pulling ice cube trays and tubs of cookie dough ice cream (his wife's favorite) out of the freezer. Then he placed the arm as apologetically as possible on the top shelf. To make it fit, he had to bend the wrist at an angle that made him squeamish. Jesus, he hoped they'd be able to sew it back on. With a sigh, he plopped down at the table, and stared at the two tubs of cookie dough ice cream. He thought about going and offering some to them. No, that was stupid. None of them would want to see him after what he'd done, even bearing ice cream. So he pulled out a spoon. There was nothing else he could do until the ambulance and police got here. So he ate, and hoped his wife had calmed down. At least she'd stopped screaming. And the ice cream was really good.