My mum and dad are behaving weird
Hello, I'm Janey. English isn't my first language, and I am an eight year old girl. So please forgive me if what you're about to read comes across as bullshit.
I think my parents are trying to kill me and I don't know what to do. Typically they are the ones I try to get involved in helping me solve any problems I might have, like what comes after F in the alphabet or tying up my shoelaces. Being eight, there isn't a whole lot I can do independently, yet alone defend myself from two adult human beings intent on causing my death. So it's really getting super awkward.
"Janey, dear." My mum called to me one day. "Please come into the kitchen and get in the oven so me and your father can eat your roasted flesh."
At first I thought, I'm going to run this one past dad, but when I looked for him he was in the kitchen too, shaking his head wildly and slobbering from the mouth.
"Get in the oven, Janey." He said, with foamy white saliva on his chin. "Your mother and I want to eat your roasted flesh."
Giving my very best little girl look, I turn to my mother and say. "Mummy, I think daddy is sick and he is trying to hurt me."
"We're BOTH trying to hurt you, Janey." Snapped my mother. "What is it about 'get in the oven so we can eat your roasted flesh' that you don't understand?"
I looked down at my pink, untied shoes, and then back up to my father.
"Daddy, I think-"
"Get in the fucking oven, Janey. We want to eat you. Right. Now!" Shouted my father.
Thinking on my feet the way eight year old children do, I recommended to them that I first wash myself and shave my head, so the cooking process would be a bit less unpleasant. They agreed that they wouldn't want the smell of burnt hair pervading the household or to be eating unwashed flesh, and so they let me go to the bathroom. I took this opportune moment to pick up the telephone and call the police.
"Hello, this is the police." Said a voice on the other end of the line. "Chief constable Constabulary speaking. How may I be of service?"
"Hello, Chief constable, thank you for taking my call even though I assume you are very busy. My name is Janey. English isn't my first language and I am only eight years old. What is more, my parents are both trying to kill me. I am in grave danger and would like your help in resolving the matter."
"Both of them??"
"Yes, that is correct."
"They want to eat you?"
"They do, but... I only mentioned that they want to kill me. I never said anything about eating anyone."
The line went dead. I could only hear heavy breathing.
"Hello?"
"We're all going to eat you, Janey. Even... the police!!"
I was shocked. I hung up the telephone. What was I going to do now?
This is when my father burst into the hall, where the phone is, holding a knife and fork, commonly used eating utensils, and with a needlessly large napkin tucked into his collar.
"Waahh!" He said, and I kicked him in the testicles. He fell over on the ground.
"Sorry daddy, but I can't allow you to do this."
I pulled the knife from his hands and stabbed him right in the eyeball, which leads through to the brain, which in turn is integral in keeping people alive. Blood spewed everywhere from his face and he died.
This is when my mother comes in carrying a bottle of olive oil and tries to splash some all over me. I proceed to whack her hard in the breasts and bite her on the neck. She falls to the floor and I grab the bottle of olive oil from her hands and shove it down her throat. If you fill someone's lungs with olive oil they can no longer extract oxygen from the air and spread it around their bodies. They will die within minutes, just as my mother did.
This is when the Chief constable breaks in through the window with a gun in his hand. He gets off one lucky shot that hits me in the shoulder, breaking my collar bone and splitting an important artery. My blood spurts out across the hall and directly into his eyes. Whilst he is blinded I throw the fork still grasped in my father's cold, dead hands and it lodges with an odd thud into Mr. Constabulary's forehead. He goes cross-eyed in horrific realisation. Using the gun he has dropped, I shoot him twice in the chest and once in the head, which is usually enough to kill anything that moves.
In the stillness of the aftermath I put another bullet through the heads of my parents' corpses, just to make sure.
As an eight year old girl with poor English, I find food shopping difficult. Luckily I will have enough meat to eat for the next year. By which I mean I plan to consume the bodies of my parents and the policeman in exactly the same way they were going to eat me. Thus not being required to do any further food shopping.
Credited to koalazeus
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