TOMORROW YOU'RE RAVING MAD. THE DAY AFTER THAT, YOU'RE DEAD.
by Tari Gwaemir
Aren't they beautiful? These respectable people going about their daily business, to school, to work, and then back home again to their families, husbands, wives, children, all seated around the dinner table.
"How was your day at work, dear?" asks the mother as she sets the table.
"Fine," replies the father, settling down to carve the meat. "What are you studying at school, children?"
"Fractions," answers the brother. "Latin verb conjugations," says the sister.
Isn't it a beautiful sketch indeed? Let me complete the painting. The father glances at his watch; it is only seven o' clock. If he hurries, he can catch his favorite whore later that evening and still come home on time to kiss his children goodnight. The mother rests her hand on her stomach for a brief moment before heading back into the kitchen, where the results of the pregnancy test are sitting at the bottom of the spoon drawer. She has the number of the nearest abortion clinic memorized but has not yet found the courage to dial the number. The boy eats his sausage with relish; he is remembering the sound of his classmate whimpering while being kicked in the ribs over and over again that day. The girl picks at her food; she is thinking of the way her teacher had rested his hand on her chest for a brief moment before pulling back quickly.
So many cracks and fissures. All it takes is a twist to distort this charming dinner scene into a massacre. Ah, look!--the canvas is splattered with blood. Now the picture is complete.