I slid a meat cleaver from the knife rack on the kitchen counter. Stealthily, I advance towards the kitchen table, to confront a small green demon that sat there, snarling. I knew that if I waited for too long, it would discover me, and then i would be done for.
I leapt towards it; cleaver raised high above my head, and brought the knife down with a sickening thud. The blood sprayed across the table, and across my clothes, running down the knife. I hacked at it, again and again, until the thick armor of the beast had been a dozen times cleaved, or more. Raw chunks of its wet, red flesh lay spread across the kitchen, the blood spattering the walls and floor. The creature was dead.
I leave the corpse there, to go and clean myself up, washing the blood and innards of the monster off of my body. When I came back to the kitchen, the Woman-Who-Calls-Herself-My-Mother was standing there, surveying the destruction. She did not speak for a quite a long time, until the words came out, slow and tired.
"What the hell," she said, "did you do to the watermelon?" I ignored her question, and grabbed a rag from the cupboard under the sink.
"Hurry, help clean this blood up, and get rid of the body, before they find out."
They came later that evening, the men in white coats. They tried to tell me that i was sick, and that I was going away to get better. They didn’t have me fooled for a moment. I knew that they were locking me up for murdering that beast; they were in league with it. So was my mother, apparently. How they could call killing that beast murder?
No, he's cool. He's cool.
.