A Day and a Life of a Homicidal Maniac

"Why did you call me fag when I just asked you for something so simple?"

I said in a stubborn tone,

"Because I had nothing better to do, and you stand out from a group of people,"

said that asshole that's begging me to make him suffer to the bone.

"And your denotation for the word "fag" would be?"

I said sarcastically.

"I can describe it with connotation, but my description is standing right in front of me."

My face changed dramatically.

My nerves were slipping that even allusion couldn't even have an indirect reference to how I feel.

"You are too quick to judge."

I said as I slowly exposed my knife that was concealed.

"Go ahead, your not really going to do it, so I ain't gonna budge."

Boy was he wrong.

With every step I took, I came closer to him.

It seemed that this moment lasted long.

He decided to use a pun to lighten the mood, which was dim.

"You know, your knife seems to get bigger and bigger when you come closer and closer."

Finally I came face to face with my target.

I dangled my blade in front of this victim who I ran into at the market.

I explained to him what I do to my victims using litotes,

In my head I decided to use hyperbole to explain how he looked.

His eyes grew so big that they were the size of saucers

as I pressed my blade against his neck ever so slightly,

I asked him another question,

"Why couldn't you have just told me the time?"

I said politely,

yet he replied,

"I don't talk to fags."

He said with aggression.

I pressed harder against his neck, which caused blood to fall,

Then I whispered to him using a paradox,

"You may think I'm a fag, but people who use that word are fags themselves,"

I said to the man who was wearing soon to be red pair of socks.

I pulled my knife away from his blood-ridden neck.

I was going to go upstairs and let him hang there as a wreak,

Then he had the balls to go and say

"HA! I KNEW YOU WOULDN'T KILL ME! WHAT A LUCKY DAY!"

I gripped my blade and spun around to face him,

"I was going to let you hang there, but it seems your chances are now slim."

And with that being said,

I mutilated his body.

After I was done, I went upstairs and layed down on my dust-covered bed.

I grabbed my diary and started to write,

Dear Die-ary,

I've noticed how verbal and situational irony happens so much in this house.

Too much of the same situation, that many of my victims are silent as a mouse.

I hope when someone finds my diary,

That they would know not to judge too quickly,

For that would be a big mistake,

Because if they don't learn after reading this,

That's dramatic irony.

-Johnny C.