Kill Bill Birthday Party

I’m stuck at a kill bill birthday party.

The theme is making noise, apparently.

The game is seeing who snaps first.
I know i will win. I always do.

The crazy 8 year olds run around, jumping of the furniture. The crazy 88 year olds scream into each other’s deaf ears.

Loud talking and laughing everyone’s flesh slicing, brain piercing weapons.

I get my katana to slice the cake, but somehow the floor ends up bloody. An arm here, a foot there, and something I don’t know
what it was.

My pretty yellow suit stained with red. Is that a strawberry or an eyeball someone plucked out and stepped on? Confetti or
blood splatter? A balloon or a head rolling on the floor?

The music has stopped. A whole cake for me and the birthday boy that I let live. You don’t kill someone on their birthday.

Putting away my sword, a snake bites.But before the venom reaches my heart I deal myself a five point punch that makes it explode. I rather kill myself than have some silly snake do it.

The darkness and muffled sounds in this coffin are soothing, really. In a grave with someone else’s name I find eternal peace and quiet.

I could punch my way out, but I don’t want to. This is my kind
of party.

I play music in my head and wiggle to the beat.

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