“What have you stolen?” she asks me but she already knows. I took everything—everything!—from the poor devil. His shoes, his wealth, his aspirations, his organs… He had asked for it. Not directly but through his actions. His drive was to become rich and powerful. Granted, he had started life like that already, he just wanted more of both. It was an obscene obsession, blatantly lived out on our backs. We all felt it, our lives taken from us, processed and packaged, devalued and devoured.
Not anymore. I drop his teeth from the overpass we’re standing on, they faintly clatter on the spotless paint of the SUVs speeding on the freeway below. “I don’t steal,” I say as I fling his detached eyeball as far as it would go. “I redistribute.” A seagull snatches a hairy shred of scalp midair.