The Birthday Party

• Rammie Matar, Grade 7, All Saints Catholic College
• Short Story
• 2016

Excellence Award in the 'Top Secret 2016' competition

One gloomy morning like any other, a man (me, not the writer but me a character named Mark), awoke from his slumber, on his sun-lit bed with of course ‘Undertale 3©’ genocide route playing on his movie-sized, flat screen television. And like any other ‘original’ murder story (Yeah I’m going there) , I’m going to murder every single person I invite to my ‘birthday.’ The writer made me say this with a sarcastic yawn. But unlike those other stories where they invite them to the murderer's house, I’m going to go after the invitation is read and slaughter them like the livestock they are. So it’s about time I should get the writer to ‘USE THE POWER OF HIS FINGERS’ to make the invitations appear, “Hey, you! You stupid, useless writer, do your magic!” The enraged murderer screamed at the cyan-blue sky while breaking his glasses.
So after ten seconds in the world the writer’s imagination made, but about a minute in the real world, the invitations had been written and sent to the dead-to-be.
“Huh, what’s this?” asked Juan carefully.
“A party,” moaned Dylan tiredly.
“Brandon really don’t like this,” Brandon screamed.
“I’m mailing this to Nielston after all, why should I read any mail I get,” Patrick thought. “Although this smells like fish.”
“Patrick mailed me something, best read it to see what he mailed me,” Nielston groaned while sipping from his iced tea.
“HEY NO PRODUCT PLACEMENT IS ALLOWED HERE!” The sarcastic, fourth-wall breaking Mark said.
“Since my neighbour’s name is Dylan, I bet I could say I’m him and go with him to the par…” He gagged as he spit out blood.
“That’s one down…” Mark thought. “Time for some more fun, let’s see next is… Nielston…” VVVVMMMMmmmmmmpeh… “Booooooooohhhhh!”
“What is it Mark?” Nielston asked. “Hey why so serious...” as he was shot down where he was standing, and his own blood gushed onto the wooden floor. “Don’t worry, you won’t be alone where you’re going. “Mmmmm now Brandon’s going get it.”
(Story shifts to Brandon’s P.O.V.):
“Mail is what Brandon loves the most. Ooh! A party!”
“Yeah, and your present will be YOUR SOUL!” A stranger shouted in a harsh voice.
Suddenly, as if time itself stopped Brandon started coughing out black ooze and without warning dropped to the ground dead. Choking on his own blood…
(Story shifts to Dylan N’s P.O.V):
“Banana bananana banana banana banana bananana…” he sang like he was in a cult. “Mark, go put the fish in the fridge,” as he stuffed a tuna down his nostrils. But that was only the beginning of the end as he then shoved Mark into a fridge, sending him off the top of the hotel floor.
“ALRIGHT SINCE NO ONE'S KILLING ANYONE, I GUESS I CAN END THE STORY… WITH A BANG!” the dumb storyteller wrote as he teleported a supernova to go end it…
“AAAAHHHHHHH!!!” The earth screamed in unison as it was engulfed by blue fire created by the author.