Dissecting the Rainbow - May 20th. (Entry 2)

I’m eating dinner with my family the first time in forever. There are dead animals all in front of us. But they don’t look like dead animals. Of course they don’t, that would be animal cruelty to be eating animals. Instead, we’re eating seasoning, with garlic and butter, all on something unimportant. Something white. Something red. All under a bunch of seasoning and filled with stuffing. There are some animals on the table; A cartoonish turkey that’s a salt and pepper shaker. Harmless.

There is no conversation. My dad is somewhere not important my mom, she’s praying for her food. She’s really Christian and really annoying. She mentions something about God as always, and me, I’m just zoning out. In my head disconnected thoughts are passing by. Things like, this really tastes like it’s old – Did I just see a cockroach? – Have I gotten paler? – I need to re-dye my hair – I’m going to call Maddie.

It sounded like a good idea. I knew what we would do, me being the weird kid in the suburbs. I’m like the cartoonish turkey in a sea of seasonings. I’m going to go out and steal some lawn ornaments from those cunts down at the school. From those cunts down at the convenience store. Those cunts who shove religion and other bullshit down my throat. Harmless.
What I really want to do is to take a rusty shovel and swipe it into their necks. This would cause either
A). Their neck to break – killing them, or
B). Me to shatter an artery in their neck causing major bloodless, again – killing them.

Before I have much time to think about what I’m really going to do, or to fantasize about rapidly stabbing some asshole, the phone rings. Of course, it’s Maddie.

Jump to about an hour later when she arrives and I open the door. Outside it’s dark, the light only coming from the glowing streetlights. The air below the lights is teeming with moths.

“You ready?” I say, before she can answer I say, “let’s go.” I jump out of my house and we walk to the left of my house. Immediately we spot a lawn gnome. I pick it up. It has a tacky plastic base and it’s holding a semi-realistic hatchet. It has a large red hat that’s almost as large and red as it’s Irish beard. It has a plastic smile and plastic green eyes. It matches the neighbors perfectly. Plastic. The way I’d describe them.

“Let me put it in my jacket,” Maddie suggests, “I’m sure it will fit.” I look down at the plastic gnome and then up at my friend and I hand it to her. She slips it under her coat and we continue on.

We then walk in between two houses to the backyard of someone’s Wannabe Mansion. It’s made to look like it some huge house, but really it’s not. The small trees and huge red roof and over-watered grass don’t fool anyone. Naturally, someone trying to look like they have it all doesn’t put lawn gnomes or flamingos out on their lawn, no; they put little white statues of innocent looking angels. I look around their backyard I notice they had left a small hand shovel out on their screened-in lanai. I grab it with my hand and it’s covered in a thick layer of mud. My grip tightening, I stab the little bastard statue with the shovel and its wholesome head pops right off. I grab the head and stuff it into my pocket. It creates a tumor like bulge on my side, but who gives a damn?

About 10 minutes later we’re completely lost in this damn neighborhood. The trees are getting bigger, the streets more convoluted. Maddie, she’s pouting and wanting to go home. It’s like we’re racing to the Quickening. All over our bodies we have huge tumors and bulges; we’re deformed little weirdoes creeping off into the night. We might as well be stealing their babies, too.

“One more,” I say. It’s obvious it won’t be one more, it will be me saying one more about a hundred times before I’ve finally found out where the hell I am.

Finally, it gets to the point where we can’t carry much more tumors. It could possible be the point where there isn’t a house in the word that has a tacky pink flamingo or gnome.

Jump to the point where me and her are finally home looking for a place to stash our collection. I suggest the attic. We open the hatch on the ceiling as if we were in some sort of B-Horror Movie. In a way we are. There are no lights whatsoever. I find some old Christmas lights strewn about and I plug them in to the only socket there is up here. There is a multitude of shelves on one side; it’s more of a heap where we toss the memorabilia into.

Now, at this point, our clothes are all stretched out from the lawn ornaments and we really tired. In a strange way this was kind of worth it.

Jump up to the next day when on of the persnickety, rich and conservative assholes called the cops because their precious gnomes were missing. Jump up to the point where the police never found the perpetrators, probably because they didn’t care. Jump to the point where our neighbors woke up one morning “magically” missing grass. Jump up to the time when my mom asks me why our house smells like dead grass. Jump over to the point where our neighbors “magically” have a lawn full of dead grass.