Just keep on walking - don't stop at my mansion. Not so close to Halloween. Trick or Treat? Care to take a guess?
Today, Iran hung a woman that killed a man that was attempting to rape her. In defiance of this wrong, I will hang a rapist today at Holden Farms. Noon.
INTERVIEW WITH A KILLER
Mary pushes the bowl in my direction, nodding for me to take a hit. I do so without needing to be prodded, trying to fight the tears and swallow the anger I feel in my throat. The images and memories crowd my mind and I fight a scream, not wanting to let it all flood through my veins.
"What did he do to you?" she asks.
"I'm not going into it," I say, standing and shuffling towards the bed. I jump into the mass of pillows and let the scream escape. I feel her arms on me and don't fight her embrace. The thought peaks into my mind: what must she feel at this moment? what is she thinking about her father? I wonder if she knew already.
I drift into the high flowing in my brain, avoiding the pictures of Ray and running for safe places. But nothing works and his face burns a hole in my attempts to control the anger. A growl escapes my lips and her grip around my body tightens.
"I understand," she says. The statement calms me for I know it's true. She does know without me having to describe the sordid details and disgusting memories.
"The worst is he wrote it all down in his book." I nod towards the nightstand and Mary sees the original copy of his 'Preface to a Suicide'.
"I've read it, you know. My mother..." her voice trails off and we are silent for some time. I turn and force my arms around her, knowing the rest of the sentence without her saying it. That book made her mother kill herself. I know it.
"Shhh," I say, squeezing her against me and kissing the top of her head. "You don't need to say it."
"I do. I blamed you for my mother dying for so long. I never wanted to admit..."
I feel her sobbing and I close my eyes, remembering. Memories long lost flood into my mind and I see it all playing like a movie, in slow motion. Trying to shake it all away, I reach over her and grab the remote and turn on music. Tapping a button, I sigh and let Mozart chase the clouds from my brain.
Can you make me feel shiny and new? Can you save me? I'll give you ALL my love, boy. I promise you'll be the only one. Well, at least until I slit your fucking throat.
"I'll be yours until the end of time..." and for you, that's before morning light. Say goodbye. This is a song from your funeral.
A Play Demonic (The Queen’s Idle Fancy)
With increasing responsibilities, meetings, handholding partisan Chicken Littles, business pressures from almost every town mercantile, appearances (ribbon-cuttings were the least of his duties) Mayor William “Big Bill” Jackson used his dawn pre-opening time at Picasso Joe’s to collect his thoughts. The stress of running a business and fulfilling his political work was beginning to make him antsy. He’d hired two more teenagers from the high school to help in the afternoons and he placed an ad in the locals-only Clamdigger newsletter looking for a phenomenal coffee-shop manager, someone who had never stepped into a Starbucks, an unwritten rule in his interviews. It wasn’t that Big Bill believed Starbucks was evil, either; beyond his wife, he kept his reasons mostly to himself. There were so many coffee shops opening on the island and these forced out others—a good democratic system spurring on competition to make things better. He was lucky Picasso Joe’s had a loyal following. It was Thanksgiving morning, and the shop would stay closed, but Big Bill wanted to check on things, have a moment to breathe. His kids slept. The teenagers, Molly and Kirsten, probably wouldn’t awake until well past noon. Their brother, Ian, would arise early and turn on the parade while eating (and spilling) cereal, Cheerios, his favorite of the boxed cereals he was allowed to eat. Sugar wasn’t welcome in their home, processed or otherwise. Diabetes had hit Jeannette’s family hard, with a father, his parents, and most of her siblings succumbing to a Type 2 diagnosis. Insulin had become a potent word in their home. So far no one had indicators, but Jeannette and Big Bill weren’t taking chances.
Don't listen to everything you read about me in the paper or see on the news. All they are out to do is give me a bad reputation. But, in defense of myself - it's not like I kill *every* man I see. It's all lies. *smiles*