Devil adorned in confetti

You look at the younger you staring blankly across the table. It pierces you with the emptiness of his face, unrecognizable. A silent plea for recognition, to be seen and heard.

On your left, a you that was left behind too early and too raw, ribs poking out, sharp as the blade that threatens you from down under. It resents you. It dares you. You know it's there but pretend not to notice.

To your right: the you with so much anger. The you with envy, that could spit fire, that aims to scare you with dark sunken eyes. And yet, only looks pitiful in yours. Nothing left for them, nothing to see than what's already laid out.

In the middle is a small cake. Not something to be shared for four, let alone two. Anger sinks deep into their fragile hearts, a hurt shared between one another understood by the burning skin on their faces.

But you are the law, given the freedom of choice. You can kill them, or you could accept them as they are. Do you have what it takes to rid of them? Will it serve you justice? The cake sits on the table, frosting melted, candle burnt to its end, wax intertwined with sweet berries and the blood rushing between cold glances.

They are not evil. They are not who you are.

With the middle now separated, all that's left is a mess; a perfectly good yet crumbled delight, and the lights turn on. Confetti curls and brushes against the hairs raised on your arm. The cake stays sitting up front;

And it's just you.

It was always just you.