101 Words

I never even looked. You’d think in all the years I’ve been at it, I would have checked the box, but no. I mean, I’m hardly to blame, one assumes in my profession that there’s a standard. I still can’t help but feel a bit responsible for what happened. I still hear the screams, at night when I’m alone. It was a tragedy, what that boy did, barely a hair on his chin, no idea what he was doing. The next time I make balloon animals, I’ll have to make sure the kid didn’t get the balloons from his parents’ bedroom.

– Deus

I figure I got two days to live. I stopped using gloves and taking precautions. My weapons lie in a bloody mess on the passenger seat floor, the DNA of 17 humans forever staining the carpet. You’re asking “why?”, but fuck that! You know why. What you really want to know is “how”. How I was able to cross that line from being a cynical critic to becoming a sensationalized serial killer in the media. I do not know. I do know that people love to read my blog as I travel across this great free country on a killing spree.

Although the time seemed right, all external forces were indicating that it was the wrong decision. It was raining, I got a flat tire, all the lights were red. I even ran out of gas if you can believe it. Despite all the setbacks, I persisted. I had spent all month working two jobs – usually about 65 hours a week. As you can imagine, this doesn’t leave much time for extra curricular activities. And despite how much I had been working, I didn’t have much money. Finally I had the day off and I was determined to get some groceries.

“The leaves are turning, a crescendo of color as the song of summer ends. And what we do with our winter, all depends… on what influenced us during the recent summer nights. Did you go for long walks in the dark thinking about your life and lies that caused you strife?”

He stared, blinking, “Seriously? You want to publish that?” “Too gay?” he replied. “It’s so gay I can see the rainbow in your pants. I’ll give you the crescendo bit, but ‘lies that caused you strife’?… Gay!” “You got something better?” he replied. “No, but at least I’m not gay.”

She was examining the different colored boxes as he looked on in frustration, “We already have some! Can we go? I don’t want to miss my show. I missed it last week because you were complaining about me not vacuuming the carpet.”. She glared, “Well, you never listen to me. I can’t bare to live with crumbs all over the carpet. It’s filthy and we need to replace it. You should ask for a raise.”. They wondered off toward the register. A disembodied voice could be heard, “Don’t have time to cook? Our value meals will save you time and money!…”

The swell was so great, filling my ears and devouring my thoughts. So thick. So much. So good. There is no better pleasure in this world than music and this was the best music I had ever heard. It was epic like earthquakes or tornados or bombs falling from the sky. It was that feeling you get when something is deeply important on a level beyond your tiny thoughts. It was the soundtrack that should have been playing when the universe fell out of the cold, dark, night sky. Everything afterwards seemed trite. Was trite. She left. And it was quiet.

Figuratively speaking she was a slut. She talked to anyone who showed an interest in her. She had no morals or bias and accepted everyone. For this she was ironically rejected by her peers because she had no loyalties; belonged to no clubs. It was that team mentality she hated; having to choose between Coke or Pepsi and pay for the t-shirt. She wandered from scene to scene like some sort of human social pinball ball conducting un-spoken experiments on anyone who would have her; unconsciously writing a diverse book in her head that would never be published or even read.