Make-Believe

The Sun rose up with practiced bravado. They let him out today. Years of living in the jail-cell that was his mind had done this to him. Freedom was like an unimaginable unreality that had never got a thought. And one night in prison had done this to him. He couldn't understand. He never really did. Those fucking assholes who gave him hope, gave him reason. He hated them. He fucking hated them.

So he couldn't believe it when they let him out in the morning. That night in jail had totally destroyed the sorry little world that was. The shop-fronts were the same. And the facade of reality remained the filthy mask that it always was. Things might have changed on the inside. There was no reason to believe. No one really gave a shit either way.

And the people had not changed. They still flocked to the market-place to buy rotten food. As the hawker smiled his sly smile. It wasn't noticed. They all smiled the same. Everyone had something to hide. Don't you think?

The empty facades of what was supposed to be, and was not. Of what wouldn't be.

How could he ever trust anyone anymore? How could he go on living like this?

He didn't. That was the answer to his sorry question. To all questions. If you can't, don't. Forget what they try to tell you. Try and try and try and nothing. He had tried. He knew. He had tried pretty hard. And they had locked him up for it.

Those fucking, ungrateful, assholes. Hypocritical bastards. He would show them...

He smiled as he walked on to the fountain. The hysteric expression on his face remained. Even after he had bloodied-up their fountain. His lifeless body, with a bullet-hole through the head floated, smiling maniacally. He got them. In his red, vindictive, redemtion, he floated happily.


Just like that. Gone. She blinked and it was gone. There one minute and not the next. The heat was getting to her, she thought as she made her way from her "work-place" to the local drug-store. The ambiguity of what she had seen was not what she thought of. The ache was her problem. She hadn't got her period yet. It ached more as she walked. What the hell had he
done? Bastard. Some "work-life" she had. HA!! Self-pity didn't even work anymore. What was going on at the fountain?

Who cares?

She had thrown up that morning. Puking wasn't a good sign. What the fuck was happening at the fountain? What was going on?

Walking over to it, she pushed her way in to get a better look. The red waters that greeted her made for nothing. The dead man was the reason she had puked. Why the bloody menstrual period wouldn't come. The bastard. He deserved it. He hadn't even tipped her. She spat in the fountain and went to the hospital to get it fixed.


T.V. was getting boring. There was nothing on. Never was. He had gone on one of his "business trips". To one of those filthy brothels. She knew. Didn't really care. But still loved him. Vaguely, somehow.

"Nothing is real." He had yelled that at her why he drove away. Drunk. Business to take care off.

And the news came on.

Dead. In a fountain. The dead guy was her guy. Fuck. The red was like the cheap tomatoes she bought from the smiling hawker.

It wasn't like they couldn't afford the better ones. They could. But who cared? And now he floated in the cheap-tomato coloured water. His own fucking juice.

She didn't cry. She went to the kitchen.


It was a busy day. He was really fucking tired. He pulled up at the apartments. The neighbours had called the police. Those people had nothing to do. The ex-government, under-pensioned uncle and aunty. Couldn't mind their own business.

Ah, what the hell. At least the bribes were good. He had a DVD player and wide-screen TV. He smiled. Like the rest of them.

Ding-dong. There was obviously no answer. This was just fun.

Breaking the door down, he could smell it. There was the smell of blood. He knew. The TV was switched to the news. The dead-guy in the fountain. Eheh!! He was getting pretty famous. He searched the house. Pretty nice. Filthy rich bastards. He pocketed a nice little crystal statue. It would look nice on his wide-screen TV with DVD player.

The kitchen door was open. She was dead all over the place. He smirked. Can't handle themselves these people. Sad. He called the station. He didn't want to dirty his hands. The coroners could take care of this. This was his new uniform...


OH FUCK!! Not another. That was the second today. It wasn't even the season for dying yet. Some fucker with a bullet-hole in

his skull, in the fountain in the morning. And now some bitch with slit wrists, all over the damn kitchen. He really didn't feel like cleaning up this shit.

Wasn't there anyone he could pay-off to do this for him. Yeah, he knew a guy. And like the rest of them.

He smiled.