I'm Going To Shoot A Muffin Off

They Died For Me,” I Say. That Feels Important

I Notice, However, That Peter Only Pretends To Inject Himself—when He Presses The Plunger Down, The Fluid Runs Down His Throat, And He Wipes It Casually With A Sleeve. I Wonder What It Feels Like To Volunteer To Forget Everything.

Then Drew Shuffles Into The Dining Hall. I Drop My Toast, And My Mouth Drifts Open. Calling Him “bruised” Would Be An Understatement. His Face Is Swollen And Purple. He Has A Split Lip And A Cut Running Through His Eyebrow. He Keeps His Eyes Down On The Way To His Table, Not Even Lifting Them To Look At Me. I Glance Across The Room At Four. He Wears The Satisfied Smile I Wish I Had On.

But I Killed A Man Just Like My Mother Did. David Says It’s Okay Because I Didn’t Mean To, And Because He Was About To Kill That Little Kid. But I’m Pretty Sure My Mom Didn’t Mean To Kill My Dad, Either, So What Difference Does That Make, Meaning Or Not Meaning To Do Something? Accident Or On Purpose, The Result Is The Same, And That’s One Fewer Life Than There Should Be In The World.

She Smiles.her Teeth Are Crooked. If I Knocked Them Out,i Might Be Doing Her A Favor.