Organic Explosives

    They stood around and screamed and pointed at me, saying: “What the hell are you trying to do? Why are you trying to kill yourself like that? Are you some kind of animal?”
    I was only trying to cross the street. To reach my destination before it was too late. I’m being timed, I’m on a clock, you see. Only so much time left before my personal Armageddon. I just need to get as far away from you all as I can. I’m a bomb, and if that’s something you can’t believe, well, you’re going to perish with me. But if you value life, you’re going to let me go.
    “You can’t run away like this. You’ve got a family, a job, commitments and obligations and debts upon debts to pay. We’re sorry, but if you’re going to be so unreasonable, we’re going to have to keep you here until you come to your senses.”
    I am a bomb. Not in any metaphorical sense. My body has literally become an explosive device. The timer and detonator are located slightly above my large intestine. I hate to argue in such a way, to repeat myself like a scratched record that’s been put on and forgotten, but I really must be going now. You cannot detain me any longer; I need to get as far away from here as possible.
    I only have a short amount of time left.