Confetti Murder
“Is he dead?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“No. My uncle’s still alive and kicking,” my friend replied, smiling. “He’s just getting his hip replaced. I’m not sure why he was on the roof in the first place.”
“Oh, thank god! You made it sound worse than it actually was! Thanks for that, Chris.”
He chuckled. “Anytime, Alfie. Now where do you want this?”
My best friend’s family was known for their injuries. One time, Chris had to get eight stitches when his sister hit him over the head with a thermos. A strangely violent family, his was.
“Um, on the wall. Opposite the door.”
“Do you think this will work?”
“It should do. My brother’s always loved confetti.”
Chris and I were planning a surprise for my brother, Torren, because he’d been working late so often that he never seemed happy anymore. We just wanted to cheer him up and the ‘Konfetti Kannon’ would do just the thing. Don’t ask me why it’s spelt that way.
“Did he have confetti on his wedding day or something?” Chris asked.
“I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t there.”
Chris stopped trying to hang the cannon on the wall and turned to me. “Really? Why not?”
“It was a private wedding. Torren and Elma brought one person each; Elma brought her sister, Lin, and Torren… brought his best friend, Lonan!”
“Wow, not even his own brother.” Chris shook his head and turned back to the wall. “That must’ve sucked.”
“It was the third of November. Do you remember? I wasn’t very happy that day.”
“No, you certainly weren’t. It’s hard to believe that was only three months ago.”
“Yeah…”
“Done!” Chris exclaimed and stepped back. “How much did you put in there? It looks huge.”
“Enough for him to feel it,” I said, my hands now buried in my pockets. “He may even roll around in it.”
Chris chuckled. “I can’t tell if that would be funny or just plain sad.”
“I’m hoping for funny.”
Chris turned around. “So, Alf, you got anything else to say about your brother?”
“What? Why?” I asked, confused.
“Is there anything else that he’s done to reallyfrustrate you?”
“Uhh…”
“Because you don’t want to have any residing anger left when your brother comes home, now do you? So, vent about him!”
“Okay then. But first, where’s the switch for the cannon?”
“Here,” he handed it to me, “now start!”
“Oh god, where tostart?” I sat down at the dining table, not far from the entrance, but far enough so Torren wouldn’t see us as he opened the door. Chris sat across from me. I was holding the switch in my right hand.
“Torren would never trust me with his car. He could trust his two ex-girlfriends, his ex-fiancé and his wife, but he couldn’t trust me with his block of metal and tyres!”
“And now you have the car you just insulted—”
“Not my point. Um… I couldn’t draw properly until I was thirteen—I think you know how this goes—and even then, he insulted what I called decent. He liked still art, I liked abstract. Just because I drew what he didn’t like, that didn’t give him the right to insult it!”
“Yes,” Chris sighed, “I know how you feel.”
“Anytime I tried to do homework, he always had to bug me. That lasted for about five years, until he left home and found his ex-fiancé. Sometimes, when I tried to ignore him, he would snatch the papers out of my hands and he wouldn’t give them back until they were due. Or worse, not give them back at all. I never did that when hehad homework.
“Oh! And most recently, he took my girlfriend to see the underground shops up north while I was down with the flu. They had a great time up there, you know… with all the clothes stores and the jewellery; it turns out they had so much in common! But that was a year ago, Chris.” I gripped the switch tighter. “One whole year! Two months later, my girlfriend dumps me and a week later, Torren has a new girlfriend. And can you guess what my ex-girlfriend’s frickin’ name was? Elma!”
Keys rattled and the front door unlocked. “Hello? It’s—”
I slammed the switch into the table and heard the confetti fly out of the cannon. Only it wasn’t confetti.
It was knives.
I heard him stumble and choke. I heard him fall against the front door. I heard his final words disappear into nothingness.
Chris smiled at me, his lips widening. Torren had done the same with his famous art, but his artwork was torn and shredded instead.
He stood up from the table and walked towards the front door. I was expecting him to laugh—as I had said it would be funny—but he didn’t say anything. He just came back into the dining room.
“Well?” I couldn’t escape from my glee.
“It’s not your brother, Alfie,” he shook his head, “it’s Lonan.”
The smile disappeared from my face. I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t launched knives at Torren, but at his best friend. The friend who replaced meat his wedding.
A smirk flashed across my face.
“Is he dead?”