Starring in My Own Horror Story
The night I was hoping to be murdered in the cemetery by a friend
My work contains themes that will definitely not be everyone’s cup of tea, this is just one tea party. People who prefer to frequent more conservative tea rooms will be happier choosing their rose hibiscus tea in one of those. No hard feelings, it’s about enjoying the tea no matter where you are.
I sat in the darkness, the lovely breeze messing up my long, thick hair, sitting on a grave with the left-hand side of my face resting against the cool concrete of the headstone, offering me its comfort and relief.
With my right hand, I pulled the pocket knife from my shoe. Using my left hand, I opened it up. For a good minute or more, I stared at the blade. My friends pulled out their own collection of blades.
Marcus, the fucking idiot, had brought a machete. Who the hell brings a machete to a cutting party?
We were supposed to just sit and talk and cut ourselves, not cut our fucking heads off. What was he thinking? But then again, maybe a machete was perfectly appropriate in a graveyard, which made me wonder who he was planning to kill.
