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