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To Katy Bertrand's previous piece
I Scream Sundae I want to wound you deeply. I want you to experience the full impact of my hatred for you. Your face to contort with pain and agony, to scrunch up like a tight fist ready to strike. So I grab the sharp, shining-like-the-crazed- gleam-in-my-eye, stainless steel blade and draw it across imperfect pink flushed flesh. "Now, they'll be sorry," I gasp with my final breath, as I lay on the hard ground, surrounded, covered, by little trails of blood, like Hershey's chocolate sauce on human flavored ice cream with sprinkles of regret and realization.
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