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Bang, Bang. by Anja Notanja
 

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  • Yesterday my friend ordered me to shoot her.
    It was a casual request. One to be only fulfilled she begged, if she ended up an old hoarder like her mother. "If you see piles of papers in the middle of the floor, please, just shoot me."

    I couldn't shoot her.
    and
    I couldn't shoot you.


    Unless it was whipped cream in an aerosol dispenser.
    Or that fake cheese squeeze product, but that would require me to give money to the non-food-toxic-corporate-thing.

    So I might just use a rubber band.
    But rubber bands hurt! I know, I'm a younger sister.

    Maybe a cap gun that just makes noise and stench. No bullet.
    Please no more bullets.
    Please no more consideration of bullets.
    We are all children, we don't know the full consequences of our actionbangshot.
    Even if we thought first, even if we think first.
    Lay down our speech. Lay down our death orders.
    You don't need to order death.
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