Day 12: It is over, it is done, I am the spoon god and they all know. Having destroyed all the usurpers, I may now go about clad in spoon chainmail, the spoons singing their clanking song with every step. The spoons still speak to me, acknowledging my apotheosis, my godhead. RA Mike was child’s play, once I planted a spoon in a wine bottle and left it outside his room. His senseless devotion to duty let me spoon him like the pretender he was. I have become one with the spoons. I am spoons, and spoons are me.
By Jake Muldowney
Day 1: Mike the RA told me about this Spoon Assassins game he’s planning. Sounds like a fun time, and the meeting is tonight. I’m not busy, maybe I should check this out. If I’m lucky, Emma might even be there.
Day 2: The game is going to be underway, actually a lot of people on the floor are participating. My roommate Jim, like 6 people in my stats class I didn’t even know lived on the floor, and, of course, Emma. Hopefully she doesn’t get too into this and stops wanting to hang out. Rules are pretty simple, if someone catches you holding a spoon and then “stabs” you, you’re out. Wish me luck!
Day 3: Wow, like 4 people got out last night. I haven’t really been paying attention that much, any of them could’ve been me. Better keep an eye out, I’d look pretty dumb if I went out this early. Also, Emma said yes to lunch this Friday, I’m so excited!
Day 5: Had to sleep somewhere else last night, couldn’t update the journal. I think Jim is planning something, I saw him with a spoon earlier and now it’s gone. What if it’s in my backpack or something?
Day 6: Jim is one of Them now, I’m sure of it. He’s got spoons where spoons shouldn’t be. He thinks I don’t see them but I see them. I see all of them. The world spirals out around me, and it’s spoons all the way down. Nobody can be trusted. Nobody.
Day 7: Lunch was today and Emma ordered a soup and it came with a spoon. A spoon. Why would she get something like that? Doesn’t she know They could be anywhere, waiting in the shadows with spoons gleaming, ready to strike. How can she feel so secure what does she know that I don’t know what does she know about the spoons.
Day 8: Jim is dead. I looked into his eyes and stabbed him, spooned him right there in the shower. It wasn’t even hard, nobody ever looks for a spoon in their shampoo bottle.
Day 10: I was out last night, waiting. There’s only three of us left, Emma, Mike and I. The spoons speak to me, they tell me the secrets they know, secrets of oatmeal and stew. They reflect the world as the warped place it is, where the only truths are the spoons themselves and whoever controls them. The spoons are my assassins now, all of them. The spoons speak to me, I am their champion. The spoons speak to me.
Day 11: Emma is dead. We had our second date today. She ordered soup, again. She must have known, must have. The second she picked up the spoon to eat, I got her right there. The look on her face as she realized what was going on was one of pure fear. Or maybe confusion, it is sometimes hard to tell.