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Weapon Of Choice
by Dimitris Dimitriadis

I live with this guy. Don’t ask me why. He wakes up and catapults himself out of bed. He wakes me up, too. I’m out of work. I don’t have to be up. 

'You gotta seize the day', he says. 

I want to seize his neck and strangle the cliché out of him. Or carve it on his back with a burning stick – but I don’t have one handy.

He drags me to the kitchen and I watch him crack egg after egg.

I wonder: what would happen if I whacked him in the head with the pan? Would it put him back to sleep?

The breakfast champion startles me with a roar. What now? He’s forced a banana (skin on), a head of broccoli, a melon’s heart, a leg of lamb?? into the blender. That’s it. I’m shoving him in there. I’ll drink my coffee, then I’ll drink him. I’ll go for manslaughter. Temporary insanity? The kind you get when you’ve had less than an hour of sleep. Show me a jury that wouldn’t buy it.

‘Sell it, sell it’, he says, pretending he’s on the phone, 'Big bonus coming up - gotta psych myself up.'

A bonus? I think, Happy Birthday Johnny.

‘That mean you could afford your own flat?’ I say, ‘Gosh, I’d be sad to see you go but if you have to—’

‘Aw, don’t be sad Johnny. Wouldn’t leave my bed bud – not when he needs me most. Besides, figured our pad needs a little perk up.

Worst. Birthday. Ever.

‘Was thinking monster stereo—’

Monster what? More sounds? In the morning??

‘and about time we got a bigger blender – don’t you think?’

Bigger blender?

‘Th-That’s—’, I say and tail off. I cover my sleep-starved face with my hands.

‘You’re welcome’ he says.

He’s rapping on my shoulder.


Wait a second – did he say bigger blender? If it fits more of him, the bigger the better!

I retract my hands. My face feels funny because I’m smiling and I can’t remember the last time I smiled this early.

‘Yes please!’

First-degree murder will have to do.