Split in Two

This is socialization.  This is sterilization.  This is a big goddamned joke.

I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and crossed myself, foiling vengeful demons and other dangerous ilk.  I stretched slowly, undoing the tension throughout my back and shoulders that living had provided.  I took my phone out of my pocket, ancient and primordially disgusting, and put it on the block.  I lifted the ax and chopped that bitch in two.  I took out my wallet, sparsely inhabited by small bills and old membership cards to things I didn’t have the heart to turn down.  I lifted the ax and split that bitch in two.  I retrieved my nicest clothes from the darkest corner of my oldest wardrobe and proceeded to cut out some snowflakes.  I took the prettiest snowflake, the one made profound by hiding shapes in the bright paper, and split that bitch in two.

I’ve been split in two, I thought, and took an instant dislike to half of the both of them.  So I had them split each other in two.  Fixed, I congratulated myself.  Nope, nope, nope…not so fast, now.  You missed.  All four of me still have a half I don’t like.  So they all split each other in two again.  On and on it went, until I realized the task was impossible and now there’s too much of me to supervise.