Britney Spears blasted on the dance floor. It was the end of the world, indeed. My fellow prom-goers relieved themselves of any decorum, and gyrated to the beat -- boys' hips against girls' asses, girls leaping up and down in their heels, and even a couple of girls grinding against each other. The faculty's faces all curdled in the red light.
The prom's dinner — paella and sparkling apple cider — felt light in my stomach. A jungle of maple and oak trees surrounded the catering place. I wore a pink silk dress, the hem rough against my shaven legs. After walking down marble steps that reminded me of my school trip to Rome, I reached my secret place — free from the noise, the party, the tradition. It felt cool among the dirt and tree trunks and branches. I found the axe, the one rumored to have chopped up a girl long ago. In the darkness, blackness seemed to have seeped in the blade. The background noise of the prom made me angry. I saw a dandelion growing in the ground. I could barely make out the yellow flower. With all my strength, I clutched the axe. I swung it with all my might. I split the dandelion in half.
The axe sliced the yellow flower like a scalpel. I laughed.
Killing wasn't so bad. Britney wasn't so bad. As I heaved, I tossed the axe and scurried away from the woods. I then decided to shake my ass with the rest of the kids.
Behlor Santi turns 33 this year. She's lived in West Africa, Arizona, and Georgia, and her dream city is Montreal. Forthcoming stories will appear in the Eunoia Review and r.kv.r.y. Email her at firstname.lastname@example.org.