We Need to Do Something

by Max Booth III

Would they try to stop me? Could they? Or would they simply allow me to disappear into the storm, swallowed up by lightning?

I am sobbing and I hate myself for every tear spilled.

Killed hundreds of people. Maybe even thousands.”

i wish death upon this "person"

Sometimes I can’t decide what would be worse: if we died from starvation or if we never died.

Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?” “I’m a good boy,” the dog says from the other side of the door, only it’s not a dog at all, not with a voice like that. In the darkness, everybody loses their shit, including me.

“He got exactly what he deserved,” she tells me. “Is that what we’re getting now?” I ask her. “Exactly what we deserve?” Her response arrives with zero hesitation: “Yes.”

“How much cheese?” “All of the cheese in the world.” “That’s it?”

What I don’t point out is they’re arguing about a goddamn email address less than five feet from their dead son. His body rapidly decomposing and still they have to bicker about things that don’t matter.

I try telling her she’d have better luck slapping Bobby awake

yikers

But I can’t respond. I have no tongue. I have no teeth. My lips are absent from my face and my face is absent from my skull and I am bones and I am ash and I am everything and I am nothing.

Somewhere outside, a tree falls, and it falls and it falls and it falls and it never, ever lands.

“We have to eat him.”

called it...in my head...

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whoag