“Luis, Luis,” I pleaded, tugging on his shirttail as he tried to ignore me and play his game of solo checkers in silence. “I can’t feel my legs. Oh, oh. I can’t feel them, Luis.”
“That’s because you don’t have any legs any more,” he responded, and glowered at me with contempt. He stood up and walked away, holding his checkerboard carefully, so as not to spill the assortment of household items doubling as gamepieces.
I rolled around miserably for a moment, then realized he was right. In fact, everything below my bellybutton was simply gone, entrails dragging through the small coils of carpet as I pulled myself around the dining room. That is the last time I trust Luis to put a grenade in my pants and promise not to pull the pin! I think to myself. But who am I joking.
I look at the bits of my lower half spattered around the room. My foot dangles from a light fixture. My calf slides down the wall. My genitalia I am pretty sure are embedded in the closet. I am about to make a joke about how that makes them gay, but then I realize they are mine. A dot of blood drips from the ceiling and lands on my cheek.
Luis comes in and asks did I say something.
“I said ‘yuck’.”, I reply, with a bit of sass.
Luis’ eyes glaze over with fury. He is shaking with rage as he spills the assorted bottlecaps, coins, pill bottles and action figures off the board and bludgeons me to death with it.