Blow My Own Head Off

It is thursday and I am sitting in the bad room. I am looking at a thin black microphone. My boss is sitting in the room next to the room I am in. This is an inquest. I hear my bosses voice over the speakers. It is like a blanket. He is asking me a question about the incident. It happened so many months ago now it seems like a different life somehow. The microphone looks like an infected penis. It is a shining rod. All of a sudden I hear something that sounds like a gun shot go off. I let out a little scream. My ears are ringing from the pain. I cannot cover them with my hands as I am strapped onto the chair. The noise came from above me. I look at the window through to the room next to me. My boss isn't there any more.

I look up.

My boss floats serenely above me. He is trussed up and oiled, slowly rotating in a harness facing me. His body squeezes out between the thin straps holding him up. He looks like the sunday roast. Slime is dripping from him onto me. He is like a self basting turkey. He is naked. He has a gun. He is firing the gun at me. I'm in for it now.