Sunday, November 6, 2005

First expansions of the story, &c.

I had never killed a man. I don’t know whether that should surprise you or not. I mean, killing isn’t really something most people do a lot of nowadays. I am not and have never been a soldier. Or a communist. I’m not really much of a fighter in general. And I am no Mersault. Drinking beer in the hot sun is fun and all, but it has never made me want to kill a fucker. I’m not a violent or beligerent drunk, rather a friendly one. I wasn’t drunk either. Just to clear that up.

But there was something about the day.

It's not that I believe in fate; or Fate. As if this was something that I had to do and couldn’t have done otherwise, blah blah blah. I don't. But I’m not in the mood to argue philosophy at this point. This is not that kind of story. Not yet anyway. It’s just that there was something, I don’t really know how to put it, something wrong with the day. Things that I took for granted, things that were always the same, had changed. It was almost as if Reality itself had changed. That reality wasn’t Reality anymore. It was something more; something different.

Everything was so much more … fluid?

At least he was a bum. A lush we found in the park wrapped in newspaper and dog shit. We had paid him earlier in the day to dance for us. It was hilarious. Or at least we thought so. We got a few dirty looks from passersby (not that any of them made a move to stop us. So few people willing to back up their beliefs these days. No wonder I lost hope.). I don’t know that that makes the situation any better. He was still a person. Most of a person. And if you believe in basic human rights, then what we did would still be considered wrong. As to the rest of it … ? … Fuck it. I make no apologies for my behavior. Not anymore. Not after that day.

I can't say that it was planned. Honestly, no sane person would plan shit this fucked up. And yes, we are sane. As far as sane goes these days, anyway. And no, we weren't on drugs. We weren't. We weren't drunk or high. We weren’t the ones that were altered. Reality had altered. Things weren't what they were. They were ... who knows. Who knows what the fuck they were.

It was night. Of that much I am certain. There are many things that I cannot discern anymore. But night and day are … actually … It was dark. I know it was dark. I am certain that it was dark. It might not have been night, but it was dark. Which was important. He was asleep. Which was also important. Or rather, it would be, later on.

I broke his kneecap with a hammer. We wanted to hear him scream. And did he ever. For a junk sick black-livered cesspool, the man had lungs. We danced in his screams; drank in his misery. In his eyes we saw the truest knowledge Man can posses: certainty of impending death. The bum had an epiphany; we had brought him the light. Then we pummelled him until he bled out. Then… Then I can’t say what. Having never killed a man before I couldn’t have known what to really “expect” … but when you kill a man, he doesn’t die as someone else. That, I know, doesn’t happen. Except…

When we looked at the body, it wasn’t him. It had been him. But it wasn’t now… Now it was her... She was a bag lady.

Why I wasn’t disturbed by the quantum flux, why we didn’t lose a step, why any of this had happened to begin with, I couldn’t say. We scattered her cans all over the place. We were drunk on rage and glory and madness bled through our souls.

Jon wanted to piss on the body. But I told him that was a bad idea. You never leave DNA behind. Reality was shifting, but there are some rules you never break if you don’t want to get caught.

I shot Jon two days ago. He was becoming too unreliable. He was starting to enjoy it too much. He was going out on his own. And his thirst was growing. He was fucking up Bateman style. Besides, a sadist is grounded in reality. A twisted reality. A violent reality. But a firm reality. And I was beyond that. He was becoming an anchor weighing me down.

They came looking for Jon yesterday. They had traced him back to the scene of one of his “walks in the park”. I sent them on something of a goose chase. I needed a change of scenery. And fast.

I got married yesterday. Her name is Allison. Allison is a one-legged golddigging stripper. I told her that I had money back at the club, flashed a fat roll of fake cash, and she danced her way into my drunken heart. I paid my way into her soulless cunt. Nothing but funny money.

Honeymoon on a private island. I left her in the airport.

I don’t plan on being around when she finds out I am not an investment banker.
Amy will you go out with me?

I woke up on my couch this morning. I don't remember how I got here. There was a hammock. And the sun. And the ocean; so blue, so perfect. But ... I don't ... remember ...

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