The seaweed wrapped box was empty save for a hand-scrawled note that read "Selluloidi soi!" An insult? A compliment? A desperate cry for help? Only a Finn would know, and Rex Murphy, the reader of the mysterious micro-document, didn't even know that much. It was all dramatic irony to him. Still, this could be considered an early 16th birthday gift to him because the seaweed was his first snack in six days. He crunched it happily, knowing this would make his suicide considerably more pallatable. Yum!
His festive partaking was far too brief for his liking and seven minutes later he was back to work making tic tac toes in the sand with his eight toe. Damn! Another tie, that was nine straight.
How much longer could he live like this? Ten days? Eleven tops, and that was assuming he found more seaweed specials. He decided to kartwheel twelve times, enough to take him back to the other side of the island, where he'd found the anniversarial surprise to begin with. On hands and knees his eyes scoured the thirteen square inch circumfrance sourrounding the spot he'd pee-marked with a fourteen. Nothing but stink.
"Happy freakin birthday to me," he breathed in his queer Newfoundland accent, before strangling himself with a giant pile of spagetti he'd saved for this eventuality. It was a mere fifteen days shy of his birthday.
10.7.06
Happy Birthday
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5 comments:
Props to Ultra for inspiring the theme of birthday death. Inspiring, providing, allowing me to steal with hopefully not too much resentment. And whatnot.
Props to you for doing my head in with the freakin' fibonacci / spaghetti sequence.
A near birthday suicide and seaweed; now that's entertainment!
Props?
Of what ilk?
A preserved moose's head? One of those umbrella's that turns into a gun?
Ho ho
i was thinking perhaps a flower that squirts tequila.
Sold.
I'll get on the prototype asap
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