Shaan viciously gnawed on his chia-seed-studded brownie and looked at Daisy. She was wearing a black ensemble that bordered between "too cool" and "I'll whoop your ass in history class if your name is Shezaib." Freshmen feared her glare and cowered under her presence. Shaan grimaced. It was going to be hard to take this one down. It was true. Well versed in memes and stocked with a full mental supply of vines memorized verbatim, Daisy poses as a potential threat to his vegan uprising. He brandished his vegan butterknife under his jacket, smoothing it over his hand. Suddenly, he tripped on a rock and the butterknife went through the soft fabric of his well-loved jacket. Another hole. He sighed. No. Daisy must be targeted, but he must attack her from the inside out.
Evening came, and Shaan parked his mom's Lexus outside CVS Pharmacy. The car looked ravaged, as Shaan was not yet licensed. He stared into the glossy windows. He pulled on a lab coat and confidently walked in, his rocky gait bordering on animalistic. He was out to kill. Walking past the counter and into the room with his treasure, he ignored the confused pharmacists. He had his eyes on the goal. His walk was now a frantic run between the rows and aisles of orange prescription bottles and small paper bags. He was growing faint. Miralax. Her bowels are going to have a wonderful time. He slips it into his fanny pack and slides his shades on. Hurriedly, Shaan jogs to the car. He starts it and speeds off, nervous sweat rolling into his eyes as he screams. Sinning was a new concept.
But how would he actually kill her? Shaan became scared. I don't have the balls to do this, he thought to himself. He shuddered. No. He slapped his long, giraffe-like neck. He had to do this. He was already this far in. An image of Daisy's soba noodles came clear into his mind, and everything made sense again. He would make her poop until she begged for mercy. He would make her poop until she began the necessary appreciation for vegan cheese. And once she saw the light, surely the others would follow in suit. At home, Shaan pours almond milk into a shot glass. He grimaces at its burn but smiles at its health benefits. He needed something stronger. Shaan grabs a scotch glass, and opens a bottle of 1851 single malt fermented soy drink from Japan. He pours and he sips. As he cuddles his Sailor Moon pillow to sleep, he thinks of bright raw vegetables and suspicious soba noodles.