I like games.

I started playing my games because of people like Jenna. Middle school was cruel, full of disgusting, stinking children. Hardly a place for the likes of me, but nobody ever did a thing about it.

The thing that set me off at first was her hair; it was long and shiny and blonde. Every time somebody spoke to her, she tossed it over her shoulder, rivers of gold streaming down her back. Practically taunting me and my scissors. After a few weeks of the friendly-game, I was no longer “weird”. So when I invited her over to play a game with me, nobody suspected a thing.

I recall how she cried when I chopped it all off with messy, rough snips. I remember her straw-hair wound tightly around her neck; I didn’t need any rope. Tipping over the chair and putting a match to the boyish mess that was the rest of her hair… beauty. The meadow on fire.

Want to play a game with me? There are only a few rules. First, you must play along. Second, don’t try to escape. Oh, and third, I always win.