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floor. And each time I
giggled, I put my hand over my mouth like a Japanese girl.
    In my intense concentration, I hadn’t noticed that
Barbara had tied herself to a wall via lamp cords. Some of the lamps
were still plugged in.
    She wanted me to throw the knives at her – to
stick them around her head. This, of course, sickened me. I vomited a
little onto my shirt. She laughed and then wept, saying that she
trusted me and had put all her love into my love and then put it into her morning soup and then ate the soup. I
was inside of her now: Me and my love. She trusted me…wholeheartedly.
    I was shaking. I could barely hold onto the knives. I
dropped them at least fifteen times, over and over again.
    Barbara was asleep.
    When I dropped the knife for the last time, Barbara’s
eyes sprung open and she exclaimed, “He throws the knife that
deflates the kidney stones in my heart!”
    Shocked, I threw both knives, shrieking.
    Realizing what I had done, I tried to run after the
knives to catch them, but it was no good.
    One of the knives was in the side of her neck. The other
knife? Vanished.
    Barbara opened her mouth.
    Nothing came out for a long time…when suddenly,
she said:
    “ The knife inside is hot. Why do I feel so cold?”
    As I walked toward her, I felt a sharp pain in my right
foot. It was the knife. It was inside me .
I pulled it out quickly and cried. Barbara shut her eyes tight and
gave out a mighty roar and pulled the knife out from her neck. No
blood came out.
    She went on her back and urinated on her wound somehow.
I didn’t watch. She walked up to me and put her hands on my
shoulders, explaining that it was a good way to disinfect the wound.
I said that I didn’t believe her.
    She shrugged and urinated on my foot.

    Seven.

    When
Barbara opened her tool kit – or backpack kit –
a rat flew out and attacked me in the face. And then it ran away and
disappeared somewhere in the apartment.
    I only shrieked after it had ran off.
    Barbara
said that I was so brave, then dumped the backpack’s contents
onto the floor while smiling at me.
    The old, sloppy remnants of a rather large wedding cake
toppled out.
    The stench was bewildering.
    My nose imploded.
    Something was wrong with my eyes. I couldn’t stop
my REM (rapid eye movements) and my tongue had collapsed.
    Barbara was doing no better.
    She gripped her throat and proceeded to gurgle, then
looked at me and gurgled. There was such sadness behind those
bloodshot eyes.
    There were roaches in the bits of cake. They were in
heat and flew around the room in flapping blurs, banging into the
walls and getting lost in our hair. A roach dove into my back and ran
around under my shirt. I squealed like a crazy person and instantly
collapsed.
    When I woke up, Barbara had attacked many roaches,
mercilessly. She had hung some of the corpses on tiny gallows –
all lined up in five rows. A roach crawled across her face. She
reached into her pocket and showed me a miniature guillotine, then
sat on the floor and cut the remaining roaches at the neck.
    I nodded whenever she looked over her shoulder and
smiled at me in a wrong way.
    I approved.

    Eight.

    Barbara wanted to dress me. Whenever I slept over at her
apartment, on the floor, I could always sense her
standing over me, watching me, taking notes and jotting down those
notes in a spiral notebook, noisily. Once, I got up to use the
restroom and she tried to follow me inside while still taking down
notes.
    When I asked her why she was trying to follow me into
the bathroom, she came to the expert conclusion that I looked like a
dignified hooker and that I had no right being so full of dignity.
This did not insult me, for she was the zombie hunter and knew what
was best.
    We
went to Ala Moana Shopping Center and stopped at SEARS, against my
many futile requests.
    I did not wish to see my fellow co-workers from the ISS
department, or In-Store Support. All we did was put up pricing-signs
on all the products. It was a lackluster