Shady Day 1: Emo Cake Party

Shade stepped through the door, and the first sound she heard was broken glass crunching under her boots. He had smashed every window in the flat, and thrown buckets of black and red paint on one side of the room. The other side had deep scratches dug into the walls by what she could only guess was a large shard of glass. Not hard to do, considering the cheap plaster quality of the walls. Naturally, everything was spilt all over the floor; tea, soups, a large cake? Amazing how he actually bothered to fill all the saucers, teacups, and bought things for the special occasion of smashing and spilling the contents.

She sauntered over to the couch, which like a mutilated stuffed animal with all of its fluffy guts spilling out, gaped and made a painful moan as she sat down. There was a warm breeze spilling in from the jagged windows, a pleasant reminder that the long winter had ended, and there were blue skies ahead. The only thing that would have made this moment more enjoyable would have been a glass, or rather, a bottle of champagne. Unfortunately if there had been anything like that in the flat, it would've joined the celebration of destroyed garbage all over the floor.

A moment of relaxation. Instead of enjoying the scenery, she took in the many photos of someone with their face viciously scratched out and clumsily superglued to the ugly broken walls.

She yawned, stretched her arms behind her neck, cracked a few thousand joints, and followed the mucky paint-trail to the main event. As expected, he was hanging by his neck in the closet, eyes bulging, tongue swollen, neck sticking out in an awkward fashion, the usual. Although painfully unoriginal, it was still a sort of favorite of hers.

After a few minutes of curious examination, she flicked a cigarette out one pocket, a rabbit-stamped lighter out the other. She lit and deeply inhaled. Out came a euphoric exhale of a thick cloud of smoke into the dead boy's face. His rolled-up eyes became bloodshot and watered, hot tears streaming down the comical expression of a suffocated fish.

To the left of the spectacle was a three-legged night table. This is usually where the note would be located, unless stapled to the face or body of the deceased. However, it was inside the drawer that she found it. A little odd, but so was the message. She smiled..chuckled lightly, and put it out on the table for the world to see when they found him. Sure it was...kinda mean, but well. So was this.

A job well done, one would assume. She playfully kicked a few beheaded stuffed animals that squeaked at her boot in protest, and hopped over a jigsawed crucifix. She laughed sharply out loud, thinking of how he had obviously raided someone's garage sale to find it JUST for this occasion. It was the outlandish preparation, like the soups and the cake, that made this a thing of memories. He had certainly possessed quite an ironic imagination; it was almost a shame he had done himself in.

Before she left, leaving the door open to wild dogs and cannibals, she shook the hair in her face, remembering the note. The job would never fail to bring surprises and a few laughs and good memories for the road. The reasons were always somewhat strange, things she could never imagine, and they played out like a mystery novel one could never get to the end of.

She propped the door open with an amputated garden angel, and jumped off the balcony, skipping into the streets and humming the note like a children's jump rope tune.


'my love for you is like a flower,
and it wilts at the end of every hour,
it blooms again without the sun's power,
for it's my heart which you devour'