One Sunday morning, I woke up with the usual alarm ringing in my ears. The usual stench reeking out of my mouth every morning and the usual scent of saliva on my pillow, I can already tell that it’s going to be a usual day. I thought about the cursed meows that broke my sleep at 2 a.m., seems like I need to double my effort on obtaining a slingshot. I need to put an end to all the purring and meowing; even my dad has started to complain for the past few days. Those overweight felines feel like they own our garage, staging concerts and orgies. How I miss my pellet gun and my slingshot.
Out of words and out of place, I begin to question the reality that I made myself believe. Lost in a forest of skepticism, the good old path that I had trodden for all these years suddenly led me to a fork. How I want to murder those cats in cold blood. Darkness is upon me and my body is yearning for it.