A Fistful of Anger 3

We're in my dark apartment. I don't want to pay for electricity so I live in here. I found out what the girl's name is. Her name is Bobby. She sleeps in the apartment too cept that it's so dark i really don't know which corner she sleeps in. She got herself a blanket too, a real nice one from the the thrift shop. Sometimes, I can feel her coming toward my way to get herself some warmth. I just hear it in the dark, like a snake slithering in the dark.

"I had a dream last night Kim Chi."

"My name is not Kim Chi."

"What's the big deal? Just call you that."

"I dreamt that your hair detached itself from your head and began to creep toward me."

"My hair is not alive."

"It was in my dream and then it moved over my body and cradled my breasts."

"My hair cannot cradle your breasts."

"Anyway, I want an apology for what your black hair did to me."

"You must be fucking joking me!"

"No, I want an apology."

"For a dream?"

"Yes."

I proceeded to walk over to another part of the wall. I had gotten quite used to the dark and I was not going to apologize for a dream.

Then, I put earplugs in my ears so I couldn't hear her if she complained.

In the dark, I began to dream that I was in Iraq again. The Americans hired us Korean mercenaries to cut off the heads of the Iraqi tribe leaders. I remembered burning their heads and bodies in bonfires. I liked the sounds of the body parts burning. It was pleasing.

I was smoking a cigarette as the bodies were burning, wondering what it would take for the war to end? Would it take a weapon of mass destruction? What would it take?

The cigarette tasted good.

When I awoke, Bobby was sleeping on me for comfort. I wondered what had happened to Bobby, what made her homeless. I wondered if anyone had ever loved her. Then, I dreamt of blue moons dancing in the night sky, adorning its hair with stars just for fun.