So there was this time that me and Monday were in a life raft together, the ship we’d been on sinking fast against the horizon, it matters not why.
Soon after, Monday tried to take all the fresh water for himself, so I snatched a fat seagull right out of the sky and beat Monday unconscious with it, which pretty much took all day, then dumped his greedy body overboard and paddled fast away. I nursed the badly injured seagull back to health, and it finally flew off, favoring one side, so that all it really did was circle, and squawk furiously; I am not but so cruel. Then, when the men in yellow rain slickers came in the Coast Guard boat to rescue me as I sat there atop the rolling ocean in a cold descending mist, they said: How sad it’s only you.
Yeah, I said, how sad. How very sad.
A week later Monday showed up at my door, none the worse for wear. He said a lot of things I didn’t like, and won’t repeat, because why bother? So this time, I went and got a tire iron, luring Monday out back with the promise of homemade s’mores and a cold beer, and then beat him until I was sure he was dead. It took me most of the day and on into the night. I then dragged his wretched shell out to the edge of the woods, and poured meat tenderizer all over him, stepping back to let nature take its course. When finally all that was left was bones, I gathered them into a sack and dumped the picked-clean sticks high atop the local landfill, under a pile of stinking cabbages and an old rotting sofa.
One week later, and I was startled to find Monday there again, tapping me on the shoulder, and saying nothing. He just stood there, tapping and tapping, and grinning the whole while. I must admit to the quality of his dentifrice; he had quite the handsome little smug smile. So this time I just shot him, straight through what passed for his heart. Shortly after, I burned his body in my fire pit, bit my bit, then smashed the charred bone shards into dust with a professional grade hammer, later dumping the horrid detritus in handfuls out along the highway, watching Monday dissipate back behind me like so much smoke in the late-summer breeze.
There’s clearly no way that bastard’s coming back again this time …
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