The ants enjoyed the barbeque more than the family, of course the ants didn’t know what

was going on in the minds of the parents. The kids could hear the thoughts even though they
were only spoken in stares. “I know what you’ve been doing during your extra hours at work”
-”well you sure as hell haven’t been a saint either” “Listen that was once during a party
where I was very drunk while you were on a ‘business trip’” -”Are you suggesting my
business trips were just me going out and fucking my secretary?” “I never mentioned your
secretary John” -”But you implied her” “No I didn’t” -”Are you calling me a fucking liar
Martha?” That last sentence was the only one John said out loud, but everyone knew what
was said in the minds of the parents. John had been squeezing the barbeque fork stronger
and stronger and Martha had been tapping her fingers the entire time right next to the bread
knife. No one thought they were a happy couple, but this was not as they thought. The bread
knife had been sharpened that afternoon. The barbeque fork has just been polished. The
ants enjoyed the barbeque more than the family because the family was nearly gone. One
man and bloody corpses at his feet. John, Martha, his little sister. Only the oldest son
remained. He’d planned this a while ago, his sister was just collateral.

Today is the day I’ll finally know what brick tastes like. This was always my plan. Ever since
my mom got that new boyfriend. He made my life hell. They said I needed to get help, but I
doubt that would’ve made it much better. I climbed up here when no one noticed. That
wasn’t hard. No one ever notices. There were 113 stairs to the roof. I counted. One broke on
my way up, so I guess that makes 112. My mom thinks I’m out clubbing with some friends.
She’s delusional. My friends left a while ago. I guess I’m finally treading in my dad’s
footsteps. They said he should’ve gotten help, maybe they should’ve gotten him help. I used
to like life. I loved making art. I guess anonymous gets his way now. I tried selling my art
once. Priced it 45 dollars for my work. An anonymous user disagreed. “It’s overpriced, if you
think that’s worth it, you should kill yourself”, So I guess this is for him. Not just for him. I
used to have friends. They called themselves that at least. People don’t like to believe that
pretty guys can be evil. So when I punched that pretty boy to mush after he broke my new
phone of course they picked his side. Nice friends they are. I guess this is also for them.
“You psycho, it’s a phone, get a grip, kill yourself”, The brick road below doesn’t shimmer, it
isn’t made of gold. It’s just red brick. I guess that’s for the better. like my dad used to say.
“Red only cleans up well on red.” I hear an ambulance driving through the streets with the
sirens on, hopefully it won't be coming for me. Today is the day I’ll finally know what brick
tastes like, too bad I won't live to remember that taste.