procrastinating in my brother's room shooting the shit. he had an english essay due. so naturally, i tried to do it for him. but i did this. it's what i think his dreams are like. maybe. if he took lots of drugs. dude, don't ask. i wrote it really quickly while talking to him. i'm rusty at the whole computer thing, and i've still got another week. yep.
There is this one dream I have. Well. I keep having. I guess it could be called a recurring dream, but it’s not the same every time. It just ends the same. I kill my English teacher. And get away with it. I move somewhere new, somewhere else, and I get a new name. A new life, a new identity. I’m rich, because, you know, in dreams, anything can happen. So I’m rich. And infamous. Yeah, that’s right. They know that I killed her, but no one will come after me. The cops fear me, the world respects me, and I live in what I proclaim is my own country.
It’s not that people think I’m crazy,* it’s that they have no jurisdiction when they enter Trilequinaig. Yeah, Trilequinaig. It’s pronounced Can-nuh-duh. It’s right above the US and my population keeps growing. It cost a fortune to buy from the fucks that owned it before, but once they heard my name and associated it with all the articles and books devoted to what I’ve done, bargaining was easy. How did I get my money?
Well. You see. I didn’t just kill my English teacher. I like to cook, right? So I have all sorts of knives and other cooking utensils. So. When I killed her, I hacked her up. No. Hacked up isn’t the right phrase. I divvied her up. I sold all of her body parts to different black markets. The Indians would be proud. Not a part unused. Or unsold rather. I guess I should use the term Native Americans or else people will get confused. So yeah, the Native Americans would be proud. Not that the Indians wouldn’t be proud. Not that they aren’t. I had a few Indian kids in my class,** I’m sure they are proud of what I’ve done. But not because I used every part of Miss Fontana; because they hated her.***
Why anyone would buy an already failing liver or toes (not the whole set, just a couple), I have no idea.**** I don’t really ask questions anymore. Not even how much, because I either get things for free or I can pay for what they charge me. I’m comfortably rich. I say comfortably because when I go home, I have a nice, Italian leather couch to recline on. Full of money. Why? Because I can.****
*People do think he's crazy
**He doesn't really have Indian kids in his class
***If he did, they wouldn't hate miss fontana, i hear she's cool
****he does have some idea why anyone would buy a few toes
*****"Why? Because I can" was arbitrarily written on his binder. he just did it, he doesn't know why
