I sat down at the table with my slice of triple berry pie. Mmmmmmm my favorite. I took a bite of the beautiful deliciousness and stared out the window. Winter was finally fading to Spring – or at least it appeared to be. You never can tell in Denver. But I pushed the thought away because it was fucking depressing.

Just eat your pie. Quit thinking. 

Oh, if only I could. I took another bite, contemplating the meal before me.

If I were a serial killer, this would totally not be a slice of pie sitting in front of me. 

Oh God, here we go again….

No, seriously, think about it. If I spent my evenings stalking beautiful people or maybe even children, murdering them, and then chopping them into tiny pieces, I would probably have, like, the arm of an adolescent on my plate or something. 

I’m going to take a nap. 

Just chill out, I’m just making an observation. Serial killers don’t eat fucking pie. Ooooooo wait, unless it’s human pie! Now we’re talking – I’d probably have blended that shit up and baked it between two golden crusts. Murder is all about power, right? How powerful would you feel if you ATE someone you hated??

I’d rather not think about it. 

Of course not because you have no imagination. Look, I’m not saying I want to do this….

God help us if you were…

…I’m just saying, if I were a completely, entirely different person with a fucked up moral compass, this food on my plate would look very different right now. 

I guess you have a point. 

I’m thinking blood, guts, maybe a few hairs…

Good Lord!!! What the hell is wrong with you? I didn’t need to picture that. 

…I could even go Indiana Jones and leave the eyeballs…

If I weren’t forced to reside in your head…

Yeah, but you are. Sucker. 

As I stared at my half-eaten pie/human arm, my sister walked in the room. My face flushed red and alarm bells rang loud and clear.

“Hey, Naomi, how’s the pie?”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Does she know? Does she know what I was just thinking? Oh my god, she’d think I’m nuts!!

You are nuts. 

That’s beside the point! What do I say? Do I tell her I’ve been imagining a human sitting on my plate? That I’ve been contemplating the lifestyle of a murderer? Jesus, she’s staring at me like she already knows. 

Just keep eating; we’ve had this conversation a million times. You’re fine. 

Then why is she staring at me? It’s too much pressure. I can’t answer her question. The pie is fine if it’s just pie. But it’s not so fine if it’s not! Leave me alone. Just leave me alone…

“Naomi? Hello? Are you enjoying your pie?”

I stood abruptly and threw my hands in the air. “Enough with the third degree already! I don’t have to answer any questions about pie! God, you’re looking at me like I’m contemplating a piece of human meat on my plate; will you give me a fucking break?”

Her eyes wide with alarm, the silence in the room was deafening.

I sat down and stared at my shoes. “The pie is delicious. You should have some.”

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