The infomercial had lied to him. It couldn't juice anything. And by "anything", James wasn't simply contradicting the product slogan "It can juice anything!"
He remained sedentary in the middle of another man's kitchen on blood drenched tile, with the sinking feeling that it truly couldn't juice anything.
Perhaps it was the amount of fat on the bones or the amount of pieces, but to accept the latter would mean admitting a flaw in his calculations. That would be too much.
"Oh no, Big Boy. This one is all your fault." James murmured, scrubbing the bits of Harold Reeves from between a blue and green ceramic plate.
"Harold, Harold," James hummed, "Or perhaps I should call you Abundiantus. Do you know what that means?"
A chunk fell with a plop from the yellow painted wall to the floor beneath it.
"Of course, you don't
" The pile gurgled, partially hanging out of the faulty fruit-juicer. He gave a wry chuckle and quipped, "One really can't blame you. I'm sure that a few pieces of your comprehensive thought are partially soaked into your pant leg...What a catastrophe you are,"
As the rigorous cleansing ensued, James' arm began to ache as he scrubbed and sopped up the mucky, guilty mess that he had made. With a groan, the frustrated man abandoned the task and dropped the sullied rag to the floor with a squish. The juicer was large, and truly did appear powerful, but it seemed that even a genius could make the most obvious of mistakes.
"What a catastrophe you are," he snarled again.
James stripped wordlessly and flung Harold's oversized shirt and pants onto the sofa. He deftly replaced the rags with his own clothing and packed the juicer, sauntering through the lopsided wooden door, and closing it behind him.
Perhaps, he would burn the place down if he ever returned. With a last look at the run-down shack Harold had once dubbed a home, James slid into his car and drove away.
During his travel home, James took a moment to glance forlornly back at his disappointing purchase. He rolled down the window and let the air dry the clumps of blood in his hair.
In the end, he hadn't killed Old Harold. The man had long since passed in his home.
However, who could've said that the aspect of trying out a new, supposedly innovative fruit juicer wasn't tempting?
Certainly not James.