Out of Our Misery

I took another day off, I hate my (work) life. I decided if I don’t have the guts to resign, I can, at least, use up all my sick days.

David was home too, he wanted me to wake him before I left for the office, so he didn’t spend the day asleep. He was awake, lying in bed, when I flung his bedroom door open.

Wake up. It’s later than you think. I took a sickie.

Why?

I’m so bored, I could, I could…

Could what?

Kill myself.

Do you want to? Let’s just do it.

Okay, let’s do it

How would we do it?

With knives…

On the couch…

Slit our wrists…

With scalpels…

Our arms right up to here.

Yes, let’s do it.

So there’s blood…

Lots of blood!

Come on.

I want to…

We could paint our faces with big, red, lip-stick smiles…

Yes…

With thick eye-liner and great big fake eyelashes…

Yes!

And prop ourselves up on the couch…

Smiles painted on…

With our arms our here…

Bleeding…

For when Shane comes back from Mardi Gras

Could you imagine…

Him, off his chops so badly…

Confronted by that…

Welcome home…

Happy Mardi Gras!

We could get balloons…

And streamers…

Shave Missy and paint her face with a big, red, lip-stick smile too…

Three days later.

Oo, pretty.

Hmmm, could you imagine…

Shane, still off his face?

Happy Mardi Gras!

Both cackle hysterically

Teach him for going to Mardi Gras without us.

It would sure show him!

Yeah!

Yeah!