#NoFilter

Carolyn really feels like hibachi tonight, but I have already been to the best hibachi restaurant nearby, and it really lives up to the three-star rating on Yelp. It's not terrible, but the atmosphere could best be described as mundane, and the food is hardly photogenic. To put it on Instagram would be a crime.

"I really just want sushi," Carolyn yaps. "I heard there's this great place on Belmont."

"Where can I get the best sushi?" I ask Siri.

"Kill the bitch," Siri says.

I glance over to see if Carolyn heard, but she is busy checking her eyeliner and lipstick in the mirror. When I look down at the screen the words are gone. I hold down the button and bring the phone close to my face to whisper into the microphone, "I want to get some dinner."

"Go to the kitchen," says Siri. Carolyn glances at me from across the room as I step around the breakfast bar.

"What did your girlfriend recommend?" asks Carolyn.

"Don't be such a jealous cunt," I mutter.

"What?" she says.

I walk to the edge of the counter and look around.

"Your destination is on the right," says Siri.

I open the drawer to my right and wrap my hands around the inviting handle of a meat cleaver. The hairs on my arms stand up like rigid stalks when I see my chiseled features reflected in the cold steel.

"We don't always have to do what the phone tells us to, you know."

"Shut her up," says Siri.

I glance at my phone, then open up the camera app and hold it far enough away to take a selfie with the cleaver. My smile shows almost all of my perfect, gleaming teeth and my eyes look black and empty. It's perfect. I load it on the new social media accounts I created with the caption, "ABOUT TO CHOP UP MY GIRLFRIEND'S MELON. HA HA HA! #murder #amkillingit #yolo #nofilter" and post it.

The sound of Carolyn's heels on the wood floors echoes through my elegantly spacious apartment. I peer through the cutout of the kitchen and watch her settle into the chaise lounge to take a selfie. It will be a good ten minutes before she manages to find the camera angle that doesn't make her look too old or fat. She is only twenty-nine, but let's be honest, her face has definitely seen better days.

"What are you doing in there?" Carolyn wonders.

"Just getting directions," I answer as I step into the hallway.

Carolyn doesn't even look away from her phone when I reach the chaise and stare down at her from behind the armrest. She plays around with the settings of the photograph until it looks perfect as I raise the sharp blade above my head. Once she posts the image, I bring down the blade over and over again. As she stops screaming, I hear my phone notifications chime as people like my latest post.