text: As I woke from my slumber, my eyes gazed upon my worst nightmare incarnate. Four summers ago, my mother returned from Turkey hoisting a massive, beautifully embroidered rug over her frail shoulder. She treated it as if it was her child, and by far her favorite one. My brother and I had the words “No food, no drink, and no shoes” drilled into our heads. Then, as my eyes came to focus while lying on the expertly crafted rug, I saw it, a massive, expanding stain of red, seeping further and further into the pristine fabric with every passing second. My mind was boggled, and my body felt weak. I must have fallen with a glass of strawberry soda, I thought. Yet, as I began to crane my stiffened neck, tiny pieces of dry wall were scattered across the floor, and a body lay before me, coated in red. Surely it couldn’t be blood, this was my brother, what had happened? There was a breeze, I remember, and knowing my mother, there shouldn’t have been one anywhere in this house, cheap woman. I quickly realized that a massive hole had been fashioned into the stone of our house by some heedless force, and the hole was in the shape of a pitcher. This is when I heard the footsteps, rumbling towards me, shaking the foundation of our home, and standing high above me, gazing upon my teenage candidness, was the Kool-Aid man. I had heard this urban legend of the Kool-Aid man, the one who murders children and ruins perfectly good rugs, but I seldom believe such things. However now, in his terrible presence, I accepted my fate, and thought “at least mom won’t yell at us.” Then I thought, “Wait, what the hell?” None of this mess had been my brother’s fault, or my own, so as far as I was concerned, I wouldn’t let a creature so transparent, you can see his insides get the best of me. As my vision began to clear further, the pitcher-shaped outline of the Kool-Aid man met my eyes, and a ferocity began to boil in my heart like my mother’s russet potatoes in that stainless-steel pot that she likes so damn much. Using this sudden rush of adrenaline, and the drive to take revenge on the murderer of not just my brother, but more importantly, my mother’s favorite Turkish rug, I staggered to my feet. How dare this man bust through our walls shouting like some commercial character? My shirt was soaked, and whether it was Kool-Aid, or my own blood was unknown to me, so I ripped it off, revealing my gorgeous dad bod, which is unfortunately genetic. I quickly realized that even walking would be an excruciating task. With each step, pain shot from my feet into my gut, where tiny shards of glass had firmly embedded themselves, seeming to dig deeper as I continued my strides towards revenge. The Kool-Aid man, who had begun his triumphant exit, must have heard me coming, because he quickly turned and met my gaze. Now we stood, face to face, unflinching, unwavering, and patient. It almost reminds me of a showdown that you’d see in an old western. For some stupid reason, as I was not carrying a gun, I wiggled my fingers at my belt as if I was ready to draw my revolver into position. The Kool-Aid man gazed upon my foolishness and laughed. “You think this is a joke?” he asked harshly, his voice booming and pleasingly charismatic. He tried to bow his chest out, but to no avail, without certain muscles, not much is possible, so he just pretended. However, the man, or pitcher better yet, was nevertheless imposing. I stood there silent, truthfully because I had no idea how to come out victorious. The Kool-Aid man was larger than me, had a serrated glass knife firmly grasped in his right hand, and he wasn’t bleeding from his gut profusely as I was. There was no way I could break his glass exoskeleton, it seemed nearly bullet proof, I mean, he breaks through walls without a scratch. So, I had to figure a way to get that red liquid to spill. My first thought was to sweep his legs out from under him, but all that red liquid inside of him is surely heavier than it appears, and I hadn’t the strength to muster the amount of force required. I needed to devise a way to use his own weight against him, or I’d be just as dead as my brother soon, as well as my mom’s heart when she sees her favorite rug has been ruined. As fast as I could, I looked him up and down and determined that a decent blow to the top of his exoskeleton would cause him to tip over. So, I sprang into action, if that’s what my gross display of stumbling could be called, and I began to run up the stairs. As I assumed, the Kool-Aid man did not pursue me, and laughed at my seemingly cowardly acts. “I knew you didn’t have the spirit!” he shouted at me from below, as I began to climb atop the banister, my eyes intent on my mom’s favorite chandelier from Budapest, which would soon be ruined as well. The wretched Kool-Aid man began to look at me strangely and cautiously, scanning every move I made and every facial expression that was displayed on my countenance. Then, I leaped. Somehow, I managed to grab hold of the chandelier as it swung back and forth like a pendulum. Once I knew I was secure, and could see the Kool-Aid man laughing arrogantly from the ground level, I began to contort my body, giving the chandelier the momentum I needed to destroy my enemy. Gathering all the strength a human can possibly obtain, I timed my release from the swinging chandelier. “OH YEA!!!” I shouted at the top of my lungs as my body soared through the air towards the man who ruined my mother’s rug. My feet crashed into him, and with a great, and final exclamation of despair, he crashed to the ground, and the liquid left his body, leaving him lifeless. I now stood above him, chuckling over his body as it lie cold on the floor. I bent down slowly, and dragged my finger through the red liquid that granted my enemy life, and proceeded to taste it. “Revenge is sweet,” I said with a smirk.