Weapon Of Choice
by Dimitris
Dimitriadis
I live with this guy. Don’t
ask me why. He wakes up and catapults himself out
of bed. He wakes me up, too. I’m out of work.
I don’t have to be up.
'You gotta seize the day',
he says.
I want to seize his neck
and strangle the cliché out of him. Or carve it
on his back with a burning stick – but I don’t
have one handy.
He drags me to the kitchen
and I watch him crack egg after egg.
I wonder: what would happen
if I whacked him in the head with the pan? Would
it put him back to sleep?
The breakfast champion
startles me with a roar. What now? He’s
forced a banana (skin on), a head of broccoli, a
melon’s heart, a leg of lamb?? into the
blender. That’s it. I’m shoving him in
there. I’ll drink my coffee, then I’ll
drink him. I’ll go for manslaughter.
Temporary insanity? The kind you get when you’ve
had less than an hour of sleep. Show me a jury
that wouldn’t buy it.
‘Sell it, sell it’,
he says, pretending he’s on the phone, 'Big
bonus coming up - gotta psych myself up.'
A bonus? I think, Happy
Birthday Johnny.
‘That mean you could
afford your own flat?’ I say, ‘Gosh, I’d
be sad to see you go but if you have to—’
‘Aw, don’t be sad
Johnny. Wouldn’t leave my bed bud – not
when he needs me most. Besides, figured our pad
needs a little perk up.
Worst. Birthday. Ever.
‘Was thinking monster
stereo—’
Monster what? More
sounds? In the morning??
‘and about time we got
a bigger blender – don’t you think?’
Bigger blender?
‘Th-That’s—’,
I say and tail off. I cover my sleep-starved face
with my hands.
‘You’re welcome’
he says.
He’s rapping on my
shoulder.
‘Smoothie?’
Wait a second – did
he say bigger blender? If it fits more of
him, the bigger the better!
I retract my hands. My face
feels funny because I’m smiling and I can’t
remember the last time I smiled this early.
‘Yes please!’
First-degree murder will
have to do.
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