Dice and Jonah
There’s blood on my hands again and blood on the floor, but when I turn on the tap it fades, like disappearing ink. Dice keeps laughing at me. I want to punch him in the fucking mouth, but I can’t find him. There are too many goddamn mirrors. We need to get out of this kitchen.
Dice is drunk. “This is the best funhouse ever, man.” I find him, but he’s already found the next door (it was in the dishwasher) and he’s crawling through.
We come out in a garden, full of statues in cages. A bird cries, distantly.