lucassfurtado

dick´s out for harambe

“If you could keep one, would you pick a dog or a cat? You’d need to kill the other.� Perplexed. With no clear reason to hate. Moreover, they love me. Come on, kill. Come on, kill. Ring, ring. Ringing in my ears. I have to keep it! I wonder if bearing a sense of responsibility would mean that I’d have to kill it? And then, I finally extend my hands. I wrap my hands around its neck as tightly as I can. Please die quickly, please die quickly… (I looked away so that I wouldn’t see the face of suffering.) (A person who would look onto the eyes of the living as they kill them is probably out of their minds.) 38.5 kilograms. Ever since that day, that thin, huge cat (or dog) (I held in my hands a strangely swollen stomach containing a rotting womb.) died. The flies swarmed in an instant. Everything I’ve feared was happening. The sacred thing was getting contaminated. Its meaning was getting dissolved into a mush that covered the mortar floor. The room is meaning, and I was full of it. In the end, I was no longer able to move. (Would it have been better if I just killed them both?) (Or perhaps, I…?) Shortly after, the answer started overflowing. I choked. Was going to die anyway. (When one fun thing happens and then a sad thing happens after, anyone would go mad.)