I’m Totally Not Miserable At All
Well, colour me disgusted, because the blood just went all over the place. I don’t mean to be overly graphic, but have you seen what happens when someone rips the lid off a running blender?
There’s pieces of you everywhere, all because of one badass little ranged weapon. You’d have liked to own that launcher, I think.
BTW, this isn’t what I meant when I said I want you all over me.
Your remains are bleeding into the ground. No poetic last words, definitely no teary hug. Not a final confession, apology, insult, no truth to cap it all off. Just a heap of ground meat that the rest of us can’t even eat.
Oh, look, there’s a finger pointing in my general direction and also slightly to my left. SYMBOLISMWTFOMFGGENIUS!!!! Yeah, yeah, you accuse me, and I know what you’re thinking. I was standing beside you, both of us seeing the gun, me in a great positive to sidestep just a bit and be hero for the day. Knee-jerk for me, also simpler for me because it’s you. Let myself blow up in your face to save your face from being blown up? No problem.
So, ‘betrayal’ is the final verdict? Try: ‘cowardice’, ‘fear’, ‘slow reflexes’. What an expressive language English is. I don’t believe in the afterlife, but there’s hatred somewhere in that pretty head of yours, now resembling a jigsaw puzzle. Not suitable for those ages 3 and below or those who are terrified of having their crush’s brain explode in front of them.
Yeah, so I watched while you got shot. ‘Sacrifice’ is a lame word, overused by emo 13-year-olds writing dark literature on MySpace.
You’re thinking all of this as you go on your merry way. Your heart is smashed, those elegant fingers dipped in your own blood, what a sight- beautiful because it’s not me lying there.
‘Dude! How’d she die??’
‘Blasted with a really powerful gun.’
‘And you stood by and watched! Aren’t you even a little bit guilty, especially since you like her?’
‘Listen to me. No, listen, don’t sneer at me and turn your nose the other way. Imagine if I jumped that gun for her. Imagine her standing amongst my bits and pieces wondering why she isn’t blown mile-high into the sky. Her mind slowly playing the memory of me throwing myself in front of her. A literal meat shield.’
In an alternate universe, you stood there while lucky me, I’m dead and so are my feeling organs. No guilt, no sadness, not even a little. No, because you’re the one feeling all of that. You get? No matter what you think of me, I won’t do that to you. I won’t sacrifice myself for you, so that you’ll live and remember what your friend did to earn the remainder of your life.
Call it sick logic, but it’s my logic, and what other school of thought am I supposed to follow?
So please, even if you’re dead as a stick (an exploded stick? Pfft, sometimes I make jokes, and this is what happens), please understand. Listen to me- and just don’t…
…don’t think too badly of me.
‘Eyy, I’m sayin’, you should’ve just done it anyway.’
‘Shut up. I’m gonna go vomit somewhere else. Clear this mess up, and burn it or whatever. You believe in reincarnation, don’t you? She oughta come back as something that’s evolved bulletproof armour.’