100 People, 10 Bats and 1 Cat Blowing Up – Episode 15 (Bats Out Of the Belfry)

Ice Trees-5

(Previously, Elsie Warren missed a chance to cut Andrea’s throat. Oh well. Today, 10 nasty little bats don’t get to terrorize a woman in the night. Read on…

Today’s gratuitous photo is vertical parallel symmetry. Or pointy things.)


“I’m going to eat the biggest, fattest, juiciest June bug I can find. Gonna eat its head and all,” said Jurgen.

“I could go for a dozen or so fireflies. Maybe a load of mosquitos on the side,” said Dwight.

Jurgen flapped his wings and made chirping sounds that sounded more like clicks than chirps. “And after I eat that monstrous big June bug,” he said, flapping his wings excitedly, “I’m going to find a lone female out for a night time stroll and fly right into her hair!”

Dwight chirped frantically, though it sounded more like bad Morse code, and made a rasping sound. “Yeah! Let’s both fly into her hair. Like, roll around, get tangled, make her scream a bit.”

“Scream a bit! Scream a bit!” screamed Jurgen, wings flapping wildly.

“Don’t ya just love this life?” said Dwight. “Get to fly, eat bugs and scare people. Gotta love it!”

“Remember that red head the other night?” said Jurgen. They clicked their chirps and flapped their wings crazily.

“Ran right into a tree!” yelled Dwight.

“Knocked herself clean out!” yelled Jurgen.

“Scared the shit out of that family walking by!”

“Made the kids cry!”

“And then the whole family ran! Even the father!”

“Let’s all of us fly into her hair!” yelled Dwight.

“Yay!” yelled Barton

“All of us!” yelled Harry.

“Right into her hair!” yelled Arnold.

“Flock attack!” yelled Charles.

“Make her scream!” yelled Michael.

“Flap and roll!” yelled Carson.

“No mercy!” yelled Ebeneezer.

“Follicle frenzy!” yelled Chester.

The other bats looked at Chester quizzically, as was the attic norm whenever he spoke.

“Let’s go for it!” yelled Jurgen.

Together as a bat horde they let loose from their perches and clicked and chirped and flapped out the ventilation window, straight into the firestorm.

(With thanks to The Queen of the Bats for this one.)


For more crazy writing by Biff Mitchel, visit Amazon.


100 People, 10 Bats and 1 Cat Blowing Up – Episode 14 (Bright Lights, Big Salon)

Bike and Bronze Man

(Previously, Judy Baker no longer had to worry about being dead. Today, a hair stylist comes close to exacting revenge. Read on…

Today’s gratuitous photo is a guy standing by the road with a metal tray. And a bike. and a lot of stuff attached to a bike.)

Elsie Warren was the first to feel it. It seemed as though it conducted through the cord of her hair dryer as she dried Andrea Smith’s hair. It wasn’t a jolt or a surge or anything that would cause her to say, “Did you feel that?” It was more like an infinitesimal displacement of atoms similar to the burp of a ladybug, as noticeable as anonymous music playing on the radio in the background. Not worth mentioning because…what would you mention? “Did you hear that ladybug burp?” And there was no way she was going to ask Andrea Smith a question like that. Andrea would be on social media right after the hair styling spreading the word, “Guess who’s losing it?” And the she’d be calling people because her mouth never shut. Elsie hated Andrea. Often, when she was doing Andrea’s hair, she would fantasize rinsing her hair with her head submerged in the sink until her body sagged lifeless over the counter. Sometimes she’d smile and chuckle quietly when she visualized Andrea’s dead body drooping with its mouth shut forever. A few times Andrea had stopped dead in whatever monologue about how the world was failing her or she needed to associate with a more positive set of friends because the current ones weren’t up to par in supporting her, and she asked, “What is it? Why are you chuckling?”

“Oh nothing, Andrea. Just thought about something my nephew said this weekend. But you’re right, you know, they just don’t understand your needs.” And it would go on and on until the session was over and Andrea would leave an insulting tip.

There it was again. This time a little stronger, like a June bug belching. Elsie stopped thinking about murdering Andrea while something in the back of her mind said, “Something’s happening. Don’t know what yet. But it ain’t gonna be anything good.” It was at that moment that she noticed her coworkers and their customers by the windows stop what they were doing and walk slowly to the large slatted windows and stare out. Suddenly, they were bathed in light, the kind of light you see at the end of the day or the early morning, only brighter, much brighter.

Elsie knew at that moment that it was time to cut Andrea’s throat with her scissors and she would have if she’d thought about it just a few seconds before the light crashed through the windows and walls.


For more crazy writing by Biff Mitchel, visit Amazon.

100 People, 10 Bats and 1 Cat Blowing Up – Episode 13 (The Real Reason for Judy Baker’s Divorce)

B&W for 100 Blog-3

(Yesterday, Howard was very happy to blow up and not have to spend another evening in the washroom Today, Judy struggles with a truth that really sucks. Read on…

Today’s gratuitous photo is a barn on a hill with trees. And we all love trees, don’t we?)


Judy Baker knew the truth. She’d known it for years now. It was something she lived with each day, day after day, year after year. She knew it when she looked into a mirror and stared into the abyss of her eyes. She knew it when she floated through the bustle of hundreds of people on busy downtown sidewalks . She acknowledged its crystal truth when she sat at her desk at work and nobody, absolutely nobody in the office, suspected a thing. But Judy knew.

Judy Baker knew the truth.

She was dead.

She’d been dead for years but for some reason she was still hanging in there with the living, occupying space, sharing the air. She was still getting paychecks. She was still eating and drinking and taking showers. But there was no doubt in her mind that she was dead.

It started one morning when she woke up feeling…different. Everything around her seemed foreign and dreamlike. She felt no sense of ownership over the bedroom or anything in it, including her husband, still asleep and snoring. She walked out of the bedroom and down someone else’s hall and into a bathroom that looked familiar but wasn’t hers. At least, not anymore. It was all one big existential puzzle until she looked in the mirror and confirmed her worst fears. She was dead.

But somehow the glue that held her spirit in her body wasn’t ungluing. She was stuck in it and she was stuck in a world she didn’t belong in anymore.

It took about a month for her husband to finally ask for a divorce.

“But you don’t have to divorce me,” she pleaded. “I’m dead. You don’t have to divorce dead people.”

He looked at her in a strange way. When she reached her hand out to touch his arm, he jumped away. Something like fear crept into his eyes. “You’re not dead, Judy,” he said. “You’re crazy.”

What did he know? What did any of the living know about the dead or what it was like to be dead?

She didn’t tell anyone at work about her death and though she was tempted, she didn’t see anyone in HR to find out if she might be entitled to any benefits. All in all, she thought it was best that her coworkers not be aware that they were working with a dead person, especially the Walking Dead fans. She was certain some of them would try putting bullets or nails into her head. Just because she was dead didn’t mean they had the right to mess up a perfectly good hairdo.

But all that was going to change today. Judy was sick and tired of pretending to be alive. She was dead and she could live with that. But she wanted the rest of the world to know. Sure, like her Mr. Critic husband, some might think she was crazy, but she was going crazy holding it in. She wanted people to know what she knew and she was sure that if enough people knew, if they really listened to her, then they would accept the truth and she wouldn’t feel so alone. It would be like she had friends on the other side.

She looked around. The coffee cart had just made its round and everyone had their morning coffee. She knew the score. You didn’t tell people you were dead before they’d had their morning coffee. She had an ex-husband to prove that. She still wasn’t sure how to start or what, exactly, to say. She’d gone over dozens of scenarios, but none of them seemed right now that she was standing up and looking around at an office full of people slurping caffeine. She decided to wing it, just stand on top of her desk and blurt it out. She thought that had a ring of spontaneous honesty to it.

She climbed up on her chair, praying that it wouldn’t tilt and send her flying into the floor. But what the hell…she was dead. She stepped up carefully onto her desk. She knew people would be dropping whatever they were doing and looking at her, so best to get it over with quickly. She cleared her throat and looked around.

No one was looking at her. They were looking out the window. She turned her head in the direction they were looking and saw the light and she knew in the exact instant the fireball swallowed her and everyone else in the office that she would no longer be alone.


For more crazy writing by Biff Mitchel, visit Amazon.

100 People, 10 Bats and 1 Cat Blowing Up – Episode 12 (Sometimes Being Blown Up Is a Reasonable Alternative)

B&W for 100 Blog more

(Yesterday, I blew up the most annoying kid on the planet and you loved it, didn’t you? Today, I’m setting Howard free. Read on…

Today’s gratuitous photo is what happens when you want to take a picture of autumn leaves but your camera wants to take a picture of the field behind the leaves.)


“That’s right…run off to the washroom and feel sorry for yourself again,” said Darlene. At just five feet nothing, the depth and power of her voice was astounding. It cut through the walls, the ceiling and the floor and permeated the lives of the apartment dwellers surrounding her and her husband, Howard. Everyone in the building hated her, but the power of her voice towered so far above her that no one messed with her self-proclaimed right to make her husband’s life a daily torment.

Howard was six feet seven inches tall and weighed two hundred and sixty-five pounds. He was often referred to as “the gentle giant.” More often he was referred to as “that poor man.” He crossed the livingroom and disappeared into the hall. Darlene waited for the washroom door’s lock mechanism to click before throwing another fusillade of insults at him. “Every time! Every time I try to get through to you! You run to the washroom! And you call yourself a man!”

Howard pulled down his pants and sat on the toilet. He propped his elbows on his knees and rested his face between his hands. He blanked out his wife’s voice and let his mind drift into happier times, years before when he first met Darlene Hubbard in college, when she was young and beautiful and encouraged him to be his absolute best. He recalled phrases like “you were meant for this,” “you can do this,” “I have faith in you.”

She’d been the most loving and supportive person he’d ever met.

Until they married.

It was like someone had waved a wand over them and said, “Act II, Tragedy.”

Suddenly, Howard wasn’t meant for anything, he couldn’t do anything and Darlene didn’t have an iota of belief in him. He guessed that she’d expected a big house, new car, new furniture and whatever else the day after the marriage and when that didn’t happen, she simply gave up on him and made every day of his life a clear reminder that she’d given up on him.

“Bartender!” she yelled. “I married a damn bartender!”

Howard thought about how they’d met when he was working at the Ranch Grill bar just outside the campus. Love at first sight.

“And that’s all you’ll ever be!”

She wore a black knee high skirt with a red blouse and her eyes were wide and focused right into his soul. He was pouring a beer, most of it onto his hand, until the customer whose beer he was pouring (mostly not into the glass) noticed where he was looking and said, “Her name’s Darlene. She’s single. And there’s a reason for that.”

But Howard was too stricken to hear what the customer said other than “Darlene” and “single.”

“I could have married Noah Winters,” she yelled. “He has his own business. You hear that, Howard? His own business. He sells hats. Baseball hats. He’s making a fortune.”

She sat at the bar all evening and waited for him to cash out. They went straight to her place and stayed there the rest of the weekend. She was his first.

“You’ll never own your own business,” she yelled. “No, not you. Always happy to work for other people, live on measly tips. Never get anywhere.”

She’d always, right from the start, been a bit on the bossy side, but Howard didn’t mind that. It took the burden of decision-making off his shoulders and made life much simpler for him.

“We’ll spend the rest of our lives in this dump!”

It was so much nicer then. Before they were married.

“That’s right! Hide in the bathroom! Hide away from the complete failure you’ve become! Hide away from ruining my life! Hide away from this dump we live in! Hide away from…”    He felt the distant rumble and the blazingly fast approach of the death tide.

He smiled.


For more crazy writing by Biff Mitchel, visit Amazon.


100 People, 10 Bats and 1 Cat Blowing Up – Episode 11 (Damien…Stop It!)

In the Alley

(Yesterday, I blew up a high school drama that was verging on nauseating. Today, well…have you ever wanted to smack a parent because of the child they couldn’t, or wouldn’t control? Read on…

Today’s gratuitous photo is strange people doing strange things in an alley at night.)


“Damien, please don’t do that.” Judy’s voice was calm as she reached down and picked up the magazine her son had just deliberately pushed onto the floor. The table beside him had a stack of them and this was the second one he’d pushed over the side. Judy put the magazine on top of the stack and looked at her son with a mixture of exasperation and understanding. “You mustn’t do that. Now, please, don’t do that again.”

The waiting room for Dr. Benjamin Canney was small and hot with merciless metallic chairs and fluorescent lighting from the fire pits of hell. There were no pictures on the pale green walls.

Across from Judy and Damien, Ward Andrews shifted uncomfortably on his metal chair. After his last bowel movement, about an inch of his hemorrhoids were still protruding from his sphincter. He was in pain. The bowel movement had been small and he was bloated with constipation. He was tired and cranky and all he wanted at the moment was to slap the little bastard who deliberately pushed the magazine onto the floor. He’d watched as the little bastard pushed it slowly over the top of the stack, eyes on his hand, as his mother said, “No, Damien, don’t do that.”

Pushing it slowly.

“Damien, I said don’t do that.”

Over the top of the stack.

“No, Damien. Stop that right now.”

Off the stack.

“Damien. Don’t.”

Onto the floor.

“Damien, I told you not to do that.”

He’d watched as the woman bent over and picked up the magazine and he’d thought, Lady, smack the little fucker in the head with the magazine.

Two excruciating chairs to Ward’s left, Laura Richter barely kept her eyes open. She’d been five days without sleep and even if she did close her eyes she’d still be wide awake. Sleep had deserted her. She was barely aware of anything happening around her. Everything seemed like a long boring dream. Only one thing broke through her wall of dream. A woman’s voice. A name. Damien. The woman’s voice saying the same stupid things over and over and over. Laura wanted to smash the voice. She wanted to walk across the small room, grab the woman’s tongue and rip it out of her head.

The magazine was back on the top of the stack. The boy moved his hand over the table and placed it on top of the stack. He glanced briefly at his mother and moved the magazine slowly, inch by inch.

“No, Damien.”

Dennis Lockhart sat in the chair next to Ward. If you were to look very close at his hands, you would see the tremor. Dennis’ whole body was tense and shaky. His mind was a puddle of worry. There was something in his left lung. A nodule. It was in the x-ray. A nodule…and they weren’t sure what it was.

“It could most likely be just some scarring,” Dr. Canney had said. “But, we’ll get a CAT scan just to be on the safe side.”

The safe side? Today, Dennis was going to find out just how safe that side was. The uncertainty of the situation had done some strange things to him. He’d been spending money a little more freely, perhaps too freely. But what the hell…it’s only money. And he was talking to God a little more. Making up to him. Paying more attention of the spiritual side. If Dennis were a gambler, he’d be known for always covering his bets. For the last week, whenever he’d heard someone sneeze, he’d mentally said, “Bless you.”

At this moment in his life, he was in a forgiving mood. God was forgiving and so Dennis would be.

“Damien, please don’t do that,” said Judy as she watched her son slowly push the magazine across the stack.

Lord, please forgive that young boy for being a nuisance and a burden on his mother, thought Dennis.

“No, Damien, stop it,” said Judy.

Lord, please forgive that woman for not knowing the first thing about how to raise a kid.

The magazine slipped off the top of the stack.

“Damien, how many times do I have to tell you not to do that?”

Lord, I know there must be some good in that child, somewhere, hidden deep inside that child somewhere, and I pray that you allow that goodness to flow up into that child and make him a good little boy, even though his mother may not be deserving of a good little boy.

The magazine slid slowly across the table, over the side and onto the floor.

“I told you not to do that, Damien. Now, stop it,” said Judy as she bent over to pick up the magazine.

Lord, failing goodness in this child, is it possible that there might only be evil and now would be a good time to strike him down? Just wondering. Amen.

Lady, thought Ward, make that little fucker stop it or I will. Stupid little brat.

What is wrong with that woman? thought Laura. What is wrong with you? Why don’t you do something instead of just saying the same thing over and over? I want to kill you.

The magazine was back on top of the stack. Damien moved his hand slowly toward the stack. This time, he looked square into this mother’s eyes. His face was blank. He just stared into her eyes as he placed his hand on the magazine.

His mother stared back. “Don’t, Damien. I told you not to do that.”

Judy’s face flinched as she bent toward Damien to warn him again. She put her hand over her stomach, where the bandage was, covering the cut from the knife, where her son had stabbed her that morning. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t serious. No need for the emergency room when Dr. Canney could fit her in. And she was sure that it was just an accident. She was afraid her son would hurt himself playing with the knife. Maybe she shouldn’t have tried to take it from him so quickly, but she was worried that he would cut himself. Surely to God it was an accident.

The magazine slid across the top of the stack

“I’m telling you, Damien.”

Stop telling him and start slapping him, thought Ward.

Lord, please smite him, thought Dennis

I want to stick my fingers into both your eyes, thought Laura.

The magazine slipped off the stack and slowly slid across the table.

“Stop that right now.”

Take the fucking magazine and spank the shit out of him with it, bitch.

Lord, please make him go away.

   How can you be so stupid? How can you be so stupid?

The magazine slipped over the side of the table and onto the floor.


And, simultaneously…

“Lady, will you do something about that fucking kid!” yelled Ward.

“He’s not listening to you. You have to do something,” said Dennis.

“Where do you get off calling yourself a mother!” yelled Laura.

Judy and Damien froze, their eyes scanning the other three.

Very subtlety, a smile began to appear on Damien’s mouth. It stretched wider as he looked first at Dennis, then at Ward and finally at Laura. The three saw the smile and wanted nothing more than to do terrible things to him. But they wouldn’t have that chance. They heard the distant rumble and seconds later, the boy’s smile evaporated into an onslaught of fire.

Miraculously, Ward managed to get out one complete thought before he disintegrated: Serves the little bastard right.


For more crazy writing by Biff Mitchel, visit Amazon.

100 People, 10 Bats and 1 Cat Blowing Up – Episode 10 (High School Confidential)

B&W for 100 Blog-6

(Previously, Kelsey messed back with the people messing with her head…sort of. Today, a high school drama plays out to the bitter end. Read on…

Today’s gratuitous photo is a road in the middle of nowhere. Don’t we all sometimes want to be nowhere?)


Jason was in love with Hannah. She sat in the row to his right, three chairs forward. He loved the way her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and showered down the back of her blue dress. The back was cut low and islands of flesh peeked through the shower of blonde. For Jason, natural science class was a forty-five minute erection that lasted after class, all the way home and into his bedroom where he filled his hand with thoughts of Hannah.

   Clark was also in love with Hannah. He sat in the row to the right of her, five chairs behind her and two behind Jason, where he could keep an eye on his unlikely rival. Clark had an advantage over Jason. He was popular, Jason was obscure. Who the hell do you think you are, staring at my girl, you fucking loser, thought Clark as he watched Jason watching Hannah.

   Hannah wasn’t technically Clark’s girl yet. He was going to ask her out after school today. She would, of course, say yes. After all, look who was asking her out. A group of the school’s most popular students would be watching. Hannah would see them. She would be flattered. Honored. She would blush and say, “Yes. Of course, Clark…I’ll go anywhere with you.” Yep, Clack had things pretty much sown up with Hannah. She was his girl.

   He pulled on the paper clip attached to the elastic held between his thumb and forefinger and let the paperclip loose. It shot across the aisle and straight into Jason’s neck.

   Jason’s entire body started at the sting. He slapped his right hand to the spot where the paperclip had hit. He turned and saw Clark smiling cruelly and giving him the finger. His erection quickly sagged into self-remorse. But that wasn’t going to stop him from asking Hannah if she’d like do something after school. He didn’t know what, but he’d think of something. Or maybe he’d just go home and jerk off.

   Hannah’s nipples were erect again, and they would be erect for the rest of the class and all way home and into her bedroom. She was in love with Rachel, who sat in the row to her left and one seat ahead of her. She loved the way Rachel’s long chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders and fanned out across the back of her dark brown blouse. She looked down at Rachel’s long legs stretching out from her olive green mini dress and fantasized kissing those legs from the knees, up to her inner thighs and burying her head in paradise.

   Today’s the day, she thought. Today, she was going to ask Rachel if she’d like to hang out after school, maybe go for a coffee and maybe go back to her place and listen to music or watch a movie or get naked. Well, naked would come later. Hannah’s parents were gone for three days and she and Rachel had all the time they needed.

   Rachel loved natural history class. It brought her and Jason into the same room for forty-five minutes. She fantasized feeling his eyes on her hair as it splashed over her shoulders and across her back. She could almost feel his eyes on her. She imagined him leaning on one arm so that he could peer around the students in front of him to get a glimpse of her. She knew he was interested. He smiled at her in the lunchroom yesterday. She knew that she was a few pegs above him in the social scheme of things, but he was cute and brainy and he had a nice ass. What more could a girl want? He could help her with her homework. And he’d be so grateful to have her as his girl that he wouldn’t ever think about being with anyone else.

   Rachel decided that it was time to make Jason a happy boy. After school today. Right after school.

   Janet Granger, aka Miss Granger, hated teaching. She hated her students. They spent most of their time staring down at their cell phones. She could see the light from the cells shining up into their faces. Fuck them, she thought. I’ll flunk every god damn one of them.

   Except Clark.

   Janet Granger, aka Miss Granger, was in lust with Clark. There was something in his bearing that suggested a man inside, a man who could satisfy her throughout the night. Plus, he was devastatingly handsome. And he was popular with the students. He was the kind of man Janet always wanted in high school but, even though she was exceptionally good looking, she was quiet and shied away from relationships. The popular kids had always regarded her with suspicion.

   But not anymore. She was a woman now. University had stripped her of her timid virginity and she really couldn’t see anything wrong with getting it on with a man seven years her junior. What was seven years in the grand scheme of lust? When they were in her bed naked together, they would be a man and a woman…in bed…naked…together.

   Janet made up her mind that today was the day to make those first advances. She would hint that something might be possible. Maybe some quiet flirting. Didn’t every boy want to have sex with his natural science teacher? She had just the plan to get things started.

   The bell rang. School was about to end for the day.

   “Clark,” said Miss Granger. “Could I see you for a moment before you leave?”

   Tiny spikes of panic filled Clark’s stomach. He had to get to Hannah before she left. “But Miss Granger…”

   “It’ll only take a moment.”

   Clark plopped back down into his chair, his head filled with thoughts of strangling his natural science teacher to death. Miss Granger, sitting at her desk, surreptitiously undid the top two buttons of her blouse, revealing some very acceptable cleavage.

   In the hall, Hannah went straight to her locker, which was two lockers to the right of Rachel’s locker. She was a ball of excitement ready to bounce with the woman she wanted more than anything in the world. She stared into her locker, waiting for Rachel. How would she start? Maybe something like, “Say, Rachel, would you like to go for a coffee? We’ve been in the same class for three months now and I hardly know you.” She felt a finger touching her shoulder and felt a thrill rush through her body. It’s Rachel. She turned her head. It wasn’t Rachel. It was that pesky Jason kid who was always eye-balling her. Just as she was about to tell him to fuck off, Rachel came up one side of him and put her hand on his arm. Jason turned to face her.

   “Hey, Jason,” said Rachel, all beautiful smiles and legs. “Would you like to go for a coffee? I mean, we’ve been in the same natural history class all term and I hardly know you.”

   Jason’s mind went numb. Rachel was just as beautiful as Hannah, but Hannah, though he loved her dearly till the end of time, was an unknown. Would she go out with him or would she tell him to fuck off? Rachel, who was just as beautiful as Hannah, was a sure thing. It was too much for him to comprehend. His brain froze.

   Rachel’s mind was in full gear with the pedal to the floor. “Why, hi Rachel,” she said coyly. “Jason and I were just going for a coffee. Would you like to join us?”

   Rachel wasn’t sure what to think, but here was a chance to get to know Jason better. And maybe the three of them could become friends, though she would be much friendlier with Jason. “Sure, I’d love to go for a coffee.”

   Just as Jason’s mind was beginning to thaw from shock enough to say something, a pallor fell over the hall. The lights flickered and the earth rumbled in some faraway region that seemed to have no direction but have every direction. In an instant, his brain went from frozen to fried, from confused to resolved.

   Hannah, still smiling coyly, was suddenly one with Rachel as their bodies slammed together and fused into one thing before being swept into the hallway walls.

   It’s uncertain what happened in the classroom.



 For more crazy writing by Biff Mitchel, visit Amazon.

100 People, 10 Bats and 1 Cat Blowing Up – Episode 9 (Take That, You Bastards)

B&W for 100 Blog-5 copy

(Yesterday, the Cliff Edge bar went right over the edge with a lot of unfinished or half-baked thoughts. Today, Kelsey Marie has pretty much had it with people messing with her head and it’s time to mess back. Read on…

Today’s gratuitous photo is a leaf because we all know that we can never have too many leaves.)


Kelsey Marie stared angrily into her eyes as she thrust her face closer to the mirror. “I’m sick of the hypocrisy!” She lifted her right arm with her fist balled around a red paring knife and stabbed her reflection in the mirror. The knife snapped in half. But that was OK, she had a selection of various colored paring knives on the counter. She opened her hand and let the red handle drop into the sink and picked up a blue knife. It was short, with a viciously serrated cutting edge. She looked into her eyes…wide, dark and teary. Life, she thought. Why does it have to be so messy and cluttered? She cocked her head to the right as her expression changed from outrage to sympathy. “You poor thing,” she mumbled. “You’re such the poor little victim of the assholes who run it all.” Sudden anger exploded in her eyes and she straightened her head. “And you let them do this to you!” she screamed. “You let them do this to you!” She stabbed her reflection again. The blade snapped off the handle and sliced into the palm of her hand. Blood flowed down her arm to her elbow as she stared at the red streak. It dripped off the end of her elbow into the sink. She seemed confused, not quite comprehending what she was seeing. “Look,” she said, nodding to her reflection as though the reflection shared her amazement and would look into the sink on its own. “Look what they’ve done to you.” She opened her hand and the blue handle dropped into the sink beside the red handle. She snatched a yellow knife, gripping it tightly and forcing blood to surge around the blade in her palm and spill down her arm. She stared into her eyes. “You promised yourself you wouldn’t let them do this to you again. You promised. But you did, didn’t you.” She thrust the knife slowly toward her reflection without hitting the mirror several times before lifting it over her head and bringing it down fast across the right side of her face. A thin red line appeared from the top of her eye, across her cheek and down to her chin. Tiny bulbs of blood spurted from the line and ran down her face, flowing into each other to form large drops of blood at the tip of her chin. The drops splashed into the sink. “Now look what they’ve done to you,” she said with a quiet, shaky voice. “Look what they’ve done to your face. You’re not pretty anymore. They’ve taken your prettiness.” The shake dropped from her voice, replaced by an ominous resolve. “But you know how to stop them, don’t you? You know how to make them fuck off, don’t you?” She stabbed her reflection again. Blood streaked over the mirror and her reflected face. The knife twisted in her hand and the serrated edge slid across her fingers, cutting into them at crazy angles. She opened her hand and stared in horror at her bleeding fingers. “They just won’t stop! They won’t stop!” Holding the tip of the knife with her left hand, she gripped the handle, lifted her arm over her head and brought the knife down across the left side of her face. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror as she watched the blood streaming from the left side of her face merge with the blood from the right and alternately pour and drip into the sink. “There,” she said authoritatively. “They won’t fuck with you again. Ever!” She turned to the right, dropping the knife into the sink and reaching her arm out to grab a towel from the wall just as the wall smashed into her face and her body burst into flames for an instant before all the rage that she was flashed into the charging fireball.

And they wouldn’t fuck with her anymore.


For more crazy writing by Biff Mitchel, visit Amazon.