Beyoncé stole my arms
I was standing on this porch, overlooking a crowd of people lining the street, knowing if anyone saw us we’d be dead. Someone had the idea to roll an empty truck into the street so that we could go around the back. So they did. We sprinted around the back of the crowd, towards this huge white house with columns and bright windows. We knew it would be safe there. It was Beyoncé’s house.
I was the only one who made it inside, and thank god I was. Beyoncé caught me and brought me up to a bathroom upstairs. She told me I would be forgiven and no criminal charges would be filed if I helped her. Blue Ivy was sick. I agreed.
She told me it wouldn’t be hard, she just needed some ingredients for a potion. She smiled and pulled out a saw. She cut my arm off at the elbow and my leg at the knee. She cut them into little medallions and took what she needed. She handed me back the rest for me to reattach. There wasn’t any blood or anything, and it didn’t hurt much, but I was left with scars. She said there was one more ingredient she needed. My tongue.
I tried to fight back, but I knew there was no way I would escape alive if I tried. It was Beyoncé, she had an army at her command at any moment. I resigned and offered to cut the piece myself so I wouldn’t have the entire thing taken. I bit off the tip and handed it to her. She tossed it along with the other pieces into a little jar and laughed. It wasn’t exactly evil, but it wasn’t playful. The next thing I knew I was in a car with my friends showing them my scars.
