Stories From The Head

Ideology: Unknown As he finished killing the innocent police-officer, Mariah started thinking. This was not something he was in the habit of doing (thinking, that is. He had been killing police-officers since he was 8). He thought about the annoying toothache he was having. He thought about whether or not he should buy Omja-meat to put in the salad he was going to make. And, finally, he thought about something his father said long ago; “Mariah”, he said. “Find something to believe in, and dedicate your life to fulfilling it. Oh, and don’t use Omja-meat in salads..” So, one of Mariah’s questions had been answered, but the salad wasn’t the thing that concerned Mariah the most. He didn’t have any real purpose. He just went around, killing one police-officer after the other, never stopping to question his own actions. As Mariah thought about this, he noticed some suspicious-looking pigeons lurking in an alley. One of the pigeons came bouncing up to Mariah. “May I help you, little bird?” The pigeon stared at him. “Nigger, please don’t give me that fuckin’ “little bird” bullshit. I ain’t in the mood to listen to that crap” The other pigeons joined the first one. “Now, bitch, why you standin’ here looking like yo mama just got fucked by a ninja? You just smoked that cop’s ass, you should be getting JIGGY, brother!” Mariah was OUTRAGEOUSLY confused. “Motherfucker, my main man just axed you a question? Why you lookin’ glum?” Mariah started coming to his senses. He bent down so he could get a better look at the pigeons. “Ehhh…I…I…I…” he started. “What the fuck are you? A fuckin’ broken record, homie?” The pigeons sniggered. Mariah pulled himself together. “I am a bit down, because I just realized that I don’t really believe in anything”. The pigeons fell over laughing. “Niggerbitch, you fuckin’ ass-master! That’s it? Shit, all you gots to do is be true to yo heart. Don’t forget that shit!” The pigeons scuttled away, laughing like crazy. Mariah walked along the railroad tracks with a whole new set of questions. “Why did the pigeons talk like that, and not just go “kurr, kurr, kurr”? “What did the pigeon mean”? What should I put in my salad instead of Omja-meat”? Mariah probably would have learned the answer to these questions, if not for the fact that he was killed 10 seconds ago. He’d spent so much of his concentration pondering these questions, that he was unable to react to the freight-train moving towards him, top speed. On top of one of the boxcars, you could clearly make out the silhouettes of seven pigeons. And if you listened closely you could hear what they were saying: They were saying “kurr, kurr, kurr…”…

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