Chapter 1
"I'm sick of this, Chris!" Guy moaned. He reached for the remote but Chris hit it away from him. "Arrrrrrrrrgggggghhhhhhhh! Christopher Anthony John Martin! We are not watching America's Next Top Model! Okay?"
"But… but… I want to see if Melrose wins the photo shoot!"
"No, Chris! Enough is enough; we've all accepted that you're gay, but that's no reason to… to feminise yourself!" Guy looked at Chris in disgust.
Guy noticed a tear forming in Chris's eye. "I have an excellent taste in television, that's all. I don't like cars or cricket or sport… some men don't either." Chris was getting defensive now. Uhoh. "Just because I like to look presentable doesn't mean I'M A FREAK!" He stormed out and slammed the door behind him.
Guy didn't bother chasing after Chris, instead he just sighed and got out his cell phone. He typed in the number and waited.
"Will, I need your help. Come to Chris's apartment as soon as you can."
To be continued...
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Partay
“Crank up the music, bro!” As requested, Will quickly pushed the volume button on the stereo and blasted some Bratz music. “Silly Willy Billy, you’re a legend, mate!” Guy started dancing like a lobster when Bratz Forever Diamonds came on.
“Guy!” Will yelled ridiculously loudly. “GUUUUUUUUYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”
After, like, the twelve-thousand-hundred-million-hundred-hundredth-thousand-times-infinity try of screaming at Guy, Will finally got his attention. “Gosh, Guy, we should be ashamed. We’ve been dancing like freaking bacteria instead of working on our genius plan!”
“…got any new ideas to add to it?”
Will sighed. “Nope… Original plan will have to do…let’s hope they fall for it.”
“Mmmmmhhhhhmmmmmm” Guy nodded and grinned. “Rad as radish, duuuuuuuuuude.”
“And now we wait.”
A knock came from the door. The knock was gentle, graceful…and who am I kidding myself? I don’t use adjectives well. Anyway, Will, unusually energetic (or maybe it was the candy Guy put in his awesome strawberry jam – ‘cause it’s the best kind and all– sandwich), and he spriiiiiinted to the door
“Chris! Chris!” Will said, talking very quickly. “Glad you’re here. Now, I have someone to introduce to you.”
“…who?”
By the time Chris had gotten that out, Will had already dragged himself and Chris to the couch, where a relative stranger sat.
“Chris…this is Phil.” Will scurried away and went into the kitchen to join Guy.
Somehow, within a few minutes, Phil and Chris were making out on the sofa. Guy and Will’s plan had worked.
I watched it all from the anonymous safe house of the tree. I wanted my Chrissy. I wanted SpongeBob. I wanted SpongeBob. Apparently repetition is necessary to be a good super villan...awesome...
Someday, Jon. Someday. Mwa hahaha mwa hahahahahahahahaha!
Thank goodness that's the ending!
“Guy!” Will yelled ridiculously loudly. “GUUUUUUUUYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”
After, like, the twelve-thousand-hundred-million-hundred-hundredth-thousand-times-infinity try of screaming at Guy, Will finally got his attention. “Gosh, Guy, we should be ashamed. We’ve been dancing like freaking bacteria instead of working on our genius plan!”
“…got any new ideas to add to it?”
Will sighed. “Nope… Original plan will have to do…let’s hope they fall for it.”
“Mmmmmhhhhhmmmmmm” Guy nodded and grinned. “Rad as radish, duuuuuuuuuude.”
“And now we wait.”
A knock came from the door. The knock was gentle, graceful…and who am I kidding myself? I don’t use adjectives well. Anyway, Will, unusually energetic (or maybe it was the candy Guy put in his awesome strawberry jam – ‘cause it’s the best kind and all– sandwich), and he spriiiiiinted to the door
“Chris! Chris!” Will said, talking very quickly. “Glad you’re here. Now, I have someone to introduce to you.”
“…who?”
By the time Chris had gotten that out, Will had already dragged himself and Chris to the couch, where a relative stranger sat.
“Chris…this is Phil.” Will scurried away and went into the kitchen to join Guy.
Somehow, within a few minutes, Phil and Chris were making out on the sofa. Guy and Will’s plan had worked.
I watched it all from the anonymous safe house of the tree. I wanted my Chrissy. I wanted SpongeBob. I wanted SpongeBob. Apparently repetition is necessary to be a good super villan...awesome...
Someday, Jon. Someday. Mwa hahaha mwa hahahahahahahahaha!
Thank goodness that's the ending!
The Risk that You Take
Chapter 1
“What are we going to do?”
Will sat at the table, eating a bowl of cornflakes. Beside him, Guy was reading an old novel, and Chris and Jonny were in the other room, most likely making out. Guy cringed at the thought, and started imaging the hot chick he’d seen on the way to the supermarket earlier that morning.
“Uh…I dunno…Chris! Jonny! I’m giving you two minutes to come out here!” Guy yelled, setting the book down onto the table.
Chris and Jonny emerged from the archway several moments later, both looking rather flushed. Jonny stepped forward and pulled out a chair for Chris, before doing the same for himself.
“Now, what do you need us for?” Jonny asked, “because Chris and I have some important, uh…reading to catch up on.” Jonny looked at Chris and shrugged.
Guy coughed. “Reading?” He raised his eyebrows, a sly grin spreading like wildfire across his face.
“Uh, yeah.” Chris nodded. “We joined a book club. We’re reading…um…The Sisterhood of the, uh, Travelling Pants…”
Guy chuckled. “What’s happened in the book so far, then?”
“Well,” Chris straightened in his sit a little, and cleared his throat, trying to seem professional and dignified, “these four teenagers, well… Its summertime in America…and all the girls are separated. Blake Lively gets sent to soccer camp, America Whatsername goes to her dad’s house, some girl called Lena goes to Greece, and the person that’s on Gilmore Girls has to stay home.” Chris grinned, clearly impressed by his effort.
Will gave him a ‘say what?’ expression, and Chris slumped back down in his chair.
“Look, Chris,” Will sighed, “that’s a blatant rip-off of the film’s basic plot. You’re not in any book club… Anyway, Guy and I wanted to call this meeting-type-thingy to discuss what’s happening…” Will turned to face Guy. “Guy,” Will gestured towards him, “would you like to begin?”
Guy nodded. “Okay, well the fact of the matter is… We have way too many incompetent teenage brainwashed fans… This is obviously Chris’s fault for wanting to tour with Miley Cyrus, so, I’m thinking the only way to make this even is to kill him. Everyone agree?” Guy raised his hand.
Everyone looked at Guy in astonishment – and shock – before Will finally said, “No. Look, they’re only crushing on us and ogling us ‘cause we’re so hot… Anyone know where I’m going here?”
“Nope.” Chris looked genuinely confused, though he also looked like he didn’t care a bit. “I know it sucks to have so many fans, but they’ll be gone soon. Hopefully…”
“Look, guys, I’ve got a plan… You wanna hear it?” Will asked.
Chris and Jonny nodded, while Guy had his nose back into the book he had been reading.
“What do you propose we do?” Jonny inquired.
“They only like us because we’re so attractive, right?” Will stated. “Well, boys, it’s time to become unattractive.”
Chapter 2
Guy was completely set against the idea.
“This won’t work,” he said, annoyed. “We’ll just get ridiculed by the media. I’d be surprised if our real fans would even still like us after our uglification.”
“…Is that even a word?” Chris asked, shrugging.
That kid seriously needs to read a dictionary sometime, Will thought. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Chris, it is; and, Guy, it will work. The bandwagon jumpers will go running back to their Jonas Brothers and Justin Bieber, and we’ll be free to be us again.”
“This is exactly my point!” Guy jumped out of his seat. “We’ll have no fans. Our old ones will turn to freaking Miley Cyrus or some crap like that.”
“Guys! Guys!” Jonny raised his voice a little to emphasise his annoyance. “Calm down, okay? Now, let’s just leave it and see what happens. We’ll have another meeting in two weeks or so if the brainwashed idiots haven’t went away. Okay? Everyone agree?”
Chris and Guy nodded their heads simultaneously, but Will was still shaking his.
“You guys do what you want,” Will said, defeated. “I’m still gonna become ugly, whether you like it or not. I’m sure the tweens will still be scared of by a freaky-looking drummer. You can thank me when they-”
“Whatever, Will,” Chris interrupted. “Jon and I have to go take care of some things.” Before Will could even open his mouth to speak, Chris had grabbed Jonny’s hand and they were on the way to the bedroom.
Guy leaned back a little further in his chair and scoffed. “God, it just never stops with those two, does it?”
Jonny walked over to the bureau and popped the tape in the cassette player. Immediately, two voices were projecting: Jonny’s and Chris’s. There was lots of moaning and the occasional, “oh, Jonny”. They played it whenever they disappeared off to the bedroom, so Guy and Will wouldn’t get suspicious.
Jonny flopped onto the bed. “Fact of the matter is,” he said, “Will is stuffing up our plan. We have to stop him or this won’t work.”
“Yup, he’s the only thing between us and Disney stardom,” Chris smiled, imagining the perks that would come with being an idol for tweens. “Hey, do you think we’d get our own TV show? I can imagine it now… Chrissy and Jonny: BFFFLAFAAAYWHOOTSAWC?”
“Best friends forever for life and forever and always and yay we have our own television show, aren’t we cool?” Jonny laughed. “Is that right? Anyway, how can we get Will out of our way?”
Chris grinned slyly. “Do you still have those guns your grandfather gave you when you were nine?” he asked.
Jonny shrugged. “Somewhere, in the attic maybe.”
“Lovely. This shall be interesting, then... Very interesting...”
to be continued...
“What are we going to do?”
Will sat at the table, eating a bowl of cornflakes. Beside him, Guy was reading an old novel, and Chris and Jonny were in the other room, most likely making out. Guy cringed at the thought, and started imaging the hot chick he’d seen on the way to the supermarket earlier that morning.
“Uh…I dunno…Chris! Jonny! I’m giving you two minutes to come out here!” Guy yelled, setting the book down onto the table.
Chris and Jonny emerged from the archway several moments later, both looking rather flushed. Jonny stepped forward and pulled out a chair for Chris, before doing the same for himself.
“Now, what do you need us for?” Jonny asked, “because Chris and I have some important, uh…reading to catch up on.” Jonny looked at Chris and shrugged.
Guy coughed. “Reading?” He raised his eyebrows, a sly grin spreading like wildfire across his face.
“Uh, yeah.” Chris nodded. “We joined a book club. We’re reading…um…The Sisterhood of the, uh, Travelling Pants…”
Guy chuckled. “What’s happened in the book so far, then?”
“Well,” Chris straightened in his sit a little, and cleared his throat, trying to seem professional and dignified, “these four teenagers, well… Its summertime in America…and all the girls are separated. Blake Lively gets sent to soccer camp, America Whatsername goes to her dad’s house, some girl called Lena goes to Greece, and the person that’s on Gilmore Girls has to stay home.” Chris grinned, clearly impressed by his effort.
Will gave him a ‘say what?’ expression, and Chris slumped back down in his chair.
“Look, Chris,” Will sighed, “that’s a blatant rip-off of the film’s basic plot. You’re not in any book club… Anyway, Guy and I wanted to call this meeting-type-thingy to discuss what’s happening…” Will turned to face Guy. “Guy,” Will gestured towards him, “would you like to begin?”
Guy nodded. “Okay, well the fact of the matter is… We have way too many incompetent teenage brainwashed fans… This is obviously Chris’s fault for wanting to tour with Miley Cyrus, so, I’m thinking the only way to make this even is to kill him. Everyone agree?” Guy raised his hand.
Everyone looked at Guy in astonishment – and shock – before Will finally said, “No. Look, they’re only crushing on us and ogling us ‘cause we’re so hot… Anyone know where I’m going here?”
“Nope.” Chris looked genuinely confused, though he also looked like he didn’t care a bit. “I know it sucks to have so many fans, but they’ll be gone soon. Hopefully…”
“Look, guys, I’ve got a plan… You wanna hear it?” Will asked.
Chris and Jonny nodded, while Guy had his nose back into the book he had been reading.
“What do you propose we do?” Jonny inquired.
“They only like us because we’re so attractive, right?” Will stated. “Well, boys, it’s time to become unattractive.”
Chapter 2
Guy was completely set against the idea.
“This won’t work,” he said, annoyed. “We’ll just get ridiculed by the media. I’d be surprised if our real fans would even still like us after our uglification.”
“…Is that even a word?” Chris asked, shrugging.
That kid seriously needs to read a dictionary sometime, Will thought. He rolled his eyes. “Yes, Chris, it is; and, Guy, it will work. The bandwagon jumpers will go running back to their Jonas Brothers and Justin Bieber, and we’ll be free to be us again.”
“This is exactly my point!” Guy jumped out of his seat. “We’ll have no fans. Our old ones will turn to freaking Miley Cyrus or some crap like that.”
“Guys! Guys!” Jonny raised his voice a little to emphasise his annoyance. “Calm down, okay? Now, let’s just leave it and see what happens. We’ll have another meeting in two weeks or so if the brainwashed idiots haven’t went away. Okay? Everyone agree?”
Chris and Guy nodded their heads simultaneously, but Will was still shaking his.
“You guys do what you want,” Will said, defeated. “I’m still gonna become ugly, whether you like it or not. I’m sure the tweens will still be scared of by a freaky-looking drummer. You can thank me when they-”
“Whatever, Will,” Chris interrupted. “Jon and I have to go take care of some things.” Before Will could even open his mouth to speak, Chris had grabbed Jonny’s hand and they were on the way to the bedroom.
Guy leaned back a little further in his chair and scoffed. “God, it just never stops with those two, does it?”
Jonny walked over to the bureau and popped the tape in the cassette player. Immediately, two voices were projecting: Jonny’s and Chris’s. There was lots of moaning and the occasional, “oh, Jonny”. They played it whenever they disappeared off to the bedroom, so Guy and Will wouldn’t get suspicious.
Jonny flopped onto the bed. “Fact of the matter is,” he said, “Will is stuffing up our plan. We have to stop him or this won’t work.”
“Yup, he’s the only thing between us and Disney stardom,” Chris smiled, imagining the perks that would come with being an idol for tweens. “Hey, do you think we’d get our own TV show? I can imagine it now… Chrissy and Jonny: BFFFLAFAAAYWHOOTSAWC?”
“Best friends forever for life and forever and always and yay we have our own television show, aren’t we cool?” Jonny laughed. “Is that right? Anyway, how can we get Will out of our way?”
Chris grinned slyly. “Do you still have those guns your grandfather gave you when you were nine?” he asked.
Jonny shrugged. “Somewhere, in the attic maybe.”
“Lovely. This shall be interesting, then... Very interesting...”
to be continued...
Deranged
Chapter 1
Chris could feel the adrenaline running through his veins. He raised the knife high above his head and grinned when he heard the cry of terror coming from the woman lying on the concrete.
“Help!” she shrieked, her scream bloodcurdling. Chris ignored this, though; he was too aroused. He wasn’t going to let her ruin his fun any time soon. He put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to muffle her sobs.
”Could you be quiet, yeah? I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.” Chris looked around the murky alley, checking to make sure no one was watching. He could make out a slight figure shifting in the darkness.
Chris sprinted to the person whose face he couldn’t see. The person seemed to shake their head a little, in shock, probably. Chris tackled the man to the ground, and hit him over the head with a nearby hammer.
Chris dragged the man a few metres up the alley, and dropped his body adjacent the woman’s. She had tried to crawl away, Chris noticed. Her body had shifted a few inches, but her movement was most likely restricted by the severe injuries she suffered.
He decided to stop dillydallying, and searched the ground for his knife. When he retrieved it, he clutched it in his hand, which had started shaking a bit.
“Who’s first?” Rhetorical questions seemed like good ones to ask the helpless. They know its coming; they know they can’t stop it. It makes it more enjoyable to see the fear on their faces.
“Please…spare us,” gasped the man.
“You talk, you die.”
Chris let himself get a better grasp of the knife before plunging it deeply into the chest of the man. Blood flowed from the gash, forming a small pool on the cool concrete.
The female tried to squirm away, realising her fate. She didn’t get far before Chris dangled the knife over her head.
“Don’t.”
Chris lowered the knife and looked into the woman’s eyes.
“Don’t kill me.”
“OK,” he shrugged.
“Really?” Chris could see a glimpse of hope in her eyes.
He laughed. “What do you think?” Sarcasm, another great tool when killing someone. It plays with their feelings, makes them optimistic. When people are close to death, they don’t bother to listen to tones. Anything that comes out of others’ mouths they believe.
Chris lowered the knife into her stomach, stabbing repeatedly and evenly. Hey, if you’re doing something you may as well do it right. The woman turned on to her side and froze. Her blood fell into the man’s, the pool now a large river. Chris grabbed the female’s hand and put it into the man’s.
He salvaged his torch. It gave a rather dim glow; perfect, considering he was dead meat if anyone witnessed his wrongdoing.
He shone the light over the bodies.
Lying on the concrete, fingers entwined, were Britney Spears and Billy Ray Cyrus.
A photographer’s dream.
Chapter 2
Chris awoke to the sound of birds singing. Sunlight shone through the blinds, and this comforted him. Just knowing that no matter how shady a thing he did in the darkness could be forgotten with the rising sun made him feel better.
He rolled over to check the time, and realised Guy wasn’t lying next to him. He had returned home after killing the two celebrities. Guy was already in bed when he got back, sleeping peacefully. Chris just lay down beside him, watching him in his slumber.
Chris sauntered to the kitchen, hoping to see Guy there.
“Oh, did I wake you up?” Guy frowned. He put down his coffee mug and newspaper and made his way into Chris’ arms.
“No. I have to go to work soon,” Chris said. “Hey, can I have some coffee… I’m a little tired.”
Guy smiled. “Of course.” He made his way to the kettle. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“Well, Britney Spears and Billy Ray Cyrus were killed.” Guy shrugged his shoulders, facing away from Chris. “There’s a big conspiracy surrounding it now. The news anchors are claiming they were having a secret love affair.”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He had almost mastered the art of lying. It’s an essential skill in murder. If you’re being questioned down at the police station over manslaughter, what are you going to say? Yes? Or would you deny it but then crack up into fits of laughter?
“Really.” Guy handed Chris a cup of coffee. “They were lying on the concrete in an alleyway off Smith Street holding hands. Apparently Billy turned to Britney after his cash cow daughter Miley was murdered. He wanted to steal her money or something like that.”
Chris laughed. “His career is washed-up, I guess,” he said, trying to make light of the situation, trying to be convincing.
Guy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to get the joke. “Was. And these celebrity murders are awful. How many have there been in the past fortnight? Eight? I mean, I don’t – didn’t – like Charlie Sheen, but would I go and kill him?”
Chris took a seat at the table, being careful not to slop the coffee over the white lacy tablecloth. “If you saw one more episode of Two and a Half Men you would have.”
“Your jokes aren’t funny.” Guy leaned against the archway, arms crossed. He checked his watch. “And you better start heading to work. You don’t want to be late again.”
Chris downed the coffee quickly and slammed the mug onto the table. “I guess I better.” He walked toward Guy and gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, before heading out the door.
Chris strolled to his car, getting ready to drive. Nowhere in particular, in fact.
He actually didn’t have a job. Each day he’d drive to Starbucks or the park and sit down, planning who his next victim would be. This usually depended on Chris’s mood. If he was happy, he’d kill an old eighties motivational band member. Sad and he’d execute someone from The Bold and the Beautiful, because that show made him feel so depressed.
Today, Chris was sitting in the corner of the jumping castle at the theme park. It struck him as odd that the people in administration would let him enter. He didn’t have any kids with him; he could be a paedophile for all they knew. Or a serial killer.
“Excuse me.” Chris raised his eyes from his pad of paper to see a small child standing in front of him. “What are you doing?” asked the little girl.
“Making a list,” Chris mumbled. “Hey, what’s your name?”
She laughed. Kids – they find almost anything amusing. “Molly.”
“Well, Molly,” he said, “what music artists do you listen to?”
“I love Daughtry,” she smiled. “And he’s touring here at the moment. I’m eager to see him perform.” Chris was impressed. For a four-year-old, Molly had an unusually wide vocabulary.
Chris cringed. “Daughtry, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Thank you, Molly. Why don’t you go back to jumping now?” he suggested.
“Okay!” She bounced away from Chris. Molly reminded Chris of a younger version of himself, so energetic and hyper.
Chris grabbed his pen and wrote one single word – or name, rather:
Daughtry.
Chapter 3
As the waiter strolled past him, Chris grabbed a glass of champagne. He took a seat on the lush sofa next to Daughtry.
“Oh, hello. Aren’t you a sexy young thing?” Daughtry winked at Chris.
Chris giggled and put a lock of blonde hair behind his ear. It was actually quite easy to adopt female mannerisms, he found. Basic etiquette is a must; flicking your tresses around a little helps. Seal the deal with a jaw-dropping outfit like Chris’s – satin dress, sky-high stilettos, a long-haired blonde wig – and you’ll be set to go.
“Thank you,” Chris laughed. “You’re not too bad yourself.” He managed a smile, but he was gagging on the inside. He knew he had to maintain the act, though. It was the only way to lure this idiot to his death.
“How’d you enjoy the show tonight?” Daughtry had a mouth full of caviar, but he was still determined to talk. Why would caviar even be served at a bogan’s after party? Chris had no idea.
Chris cringed, and said the words he never expected to come out of his mouth. “It was great. You were amazing out there.”
“Thank you, darlin’,” Daughtry wrapped his arm around Chris’ shoulder. Chris moved back a little, but, realising he had to act convincingly – as a lady would – he scooted back to Daughtry. “What’s your name, honey?”
“My name is…” Chris actually hadn’t thought about names. Chris thought he would just seduce him and kill him. He didn’t recognise that there was another step before the wooing. “My name is Jane.” It was the first one that popped into Chris’s mind.
“Jane. Pretty name.” Daughtry’s eyes lit up. Chris didn’t know why, though. Maybe Chris was doing a good job at charming him. “That rhymes!”
An awkward smile spread across Chris’s face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It does…”
“I have to write a song about you.” Chris grinned wider, and chuckled a little. “Or your name, at least.”
“Well,” Chris grabbed the idiot’s hand, “why don’t you get to know me a little better.”
Daughtry hesitated. Why? Chris was smokin’… Well, he thought he was, at least. Chris began playing with his hair; a girly thing to do. “I don’t really-”
“Nonsense.” Chris grasped Daughtry’s hand and led him out of the hotel. They kept on walking until Chris came to a stop at a nearby bench.
It was dark out, and there was no one around. Chris wanted this though. He wasn’t about to murder someone in broad daylight. Even an infant would know not to do that.
“So, how old are you?” Daughtry inquired. “You don’t look a day past twenty.”
Chris lay down on the damp grass. “I’m twenty-two, and you should come and sit here with me.” He spread his body out over the lawn to demonstrate its comfort.
Daughtry began to bend down. By all the groaning noises he made, Chris inferred Daughtry either wasn’t very fit, or just older than he Chris thought he was. Or a mixture of both.
“It’s lovely,” Daughtry murmured when he finally reached the ground.
“You know what else is lovely?” Chris looked over at Daughtry, batting his eyelashes like a young schoolgirl. Daughtry returned the expression. “Killing.”
Daughtry still seemed to be mesmerised by Chris’s eyes, and he hadn’t realised what Chris had said. This brought Chris some time, which he needed for it to work out well.
Chris removed the brown belt from around his waist. He moved closer to Daughtry.
“Killing? What?” Daughtry looked around, panicked. Finally he pays attention.
“That’s right,” grinned Chris. He put the belt around the idiot’s neck. “You heard correctly.” He took the wig from his head and the heels from his feet off. No need to be uncomfortable.
Daughtry’s eyes widened. “You’re…a man.”
“A man that’s about to murder you,” Chris corrected. He wrapped the belt around Daughtry’s neck a few times.
“No!”
Daughtry sat up and grabbed a nearby stick. He began poking Chris with it, but it didn’t hurt him a bit.
“Since you’re impatient,” Chris snapped, “you can get the quick option.”
Chris opened up his purse and collected the shotgun. He cradled it in his hands, before dropping the rifle onto the grass. Intimidation works fantastically, as well. Just like rhetorical questions, it creates a look of hope upon their faces. But when they reach out for the gun and see it’s already in your hands, the hope disappears. It’s really quite hilarious, Chris found.
“Time to die.”
And with that, Chris pulled the trigger of the shotgun, leaving a single hole in Daughtry’s head.
The idiot dropped to the ground and blood started pouring out of his head.
Chris wandered over to the carcass, and pulled out his makeup bag. He grabbed a tube of lip gloss and spread it on Daughtry’s lips. Chris placed the wig he was previously wearing atop Daughtry’s head, and slid the dress on his body.
Chris could imagine the headlines already: American Idol Alum’s Secret Double Life.
Chris laughed, and grabbed a list from his purse.
He crossed off a name. Daughtry.
Chapter 4
“You didn’t think you’d end up here, did you?”
Chris shook his head, one of the only ways to communicate when your mouth is taped shut.
He tried one more time to project his voice through the boundaries of the masking tape, but to no avail. His cries were lost.
“Hmm?”
The man sat down on a chair opposite Chris’s. His eyes glowed an unnatural shade of red as he raised his arm.
“Do you want me to take the tape off?”
Chris nodded eagerly.
“OK, then. You’ve been a good boy,” the man said. He grabbed onto the piece of tape concealing Chris’s mouth, and pulled it hard, removing a few hairs.
Chris gasped. He tried to stand up, but, to his disgust, discovered he was tied to the seat. He sunk back into the chair, hitting his head on the way down.
“Th-th-thank you,” Chris managed to blurt out.
“That’s no problem, Christopher. But–” the inevitable word; it’s always bound to show up in any conversation “–I need to tell you something first; before I free you.”
Chris bit his lip. “OK.”
“You need to know that you won’t live much longer,” the man replied.
“What?”
The man gave Chris a grave expression. “My boss has put a hit out on you,” he said. “You’re going to die.”
“Guy,” Chris said. “I have to tell you something.”
Guy smiled. “Sure, Chris. What is it?”
Chris sighed deeply. There really isn’t any gentle way to tell someone you’re going to be murdered. “Someone is going to kill me soon.”
He watched a tear form in Guy’s eye. “Really?”
“Yes,” Chris said, sighing. “I was held hostage by Samuel L. Jackson today. He told me.”
“Look.” Chris rubbed Guy’s shoulder. “I’ve done some regrettable things in my lifetime… But I need you to promise me something.”
“Of course. Anything…” Guy left his sentence unfinished.
Chris cleared his throat. “My grandfather…He was an assassin. He passed it down to my father. My father…He passed the job down to me. Guy, we don’t have any kids…no one to pass it down to. This is an important part of my family.”
“Yes…” Guy was confused.
“Will you take over my role?”
Guy looked up at Chris. Guy could see the pain in his eyes. “For you… Yes…”
Chapter 5
The house was filthy. The living room was dimly lit; a tattered blood-stained blanket was sprawled hastily across the holey couch. Ants, cockroaches and termites infested the building.
Guy was sitting at the wooden table, which he guessed the termites had gotten to. Anyone would think he was a ghost. He was so white, his eyes were so bloodshot. Not to mention how thin he was.
He tapped his watch impatiently. “How long will this take?”
“Not too long,” said Mercy, leaning over the stove.
Guy waited and waited, reading a gossip magazine from the nineties.
“Here you go,” she smiled. Mercy handed a large bag over to Guy. “I gave you a little extra. Don’t tell David, please.” She looked over her shoulder to see the subject of conversation. David was a fierce man, though his pale skin and red curly hair wouldn’t show it.
“Of course not.” Guy gave Mercy a little kiss. Her breath smelled of cigarettes and vodka. Guy wondered how long it had been since she last brushed her teeth. He knew all of the women who worked there were pushed to their limits; that they weren’t paid or treated fairly. He knew for a fact none of them wanted to be there; that their husbands’ debts were so great they had to sell their wives’; that they were abducted and stolen, forced.
What Guy didn’t know, however, was that the women didn’t get fed. If one of their clients had some food that they wanted to give them, it was acceptable, as they owned the lady for the night… But when they had to work in the factory – like Mercy – they weren’t given anything to eat, no water to drink.
Mercy had a son back in her hometown. It saddened Guy to think that Mercy would never see her child…her child would never see his mother.
“Mercy,” Guy said.
She didn’t look up; she was concentrating on her work. “Yes, Guy?”
“I have a plan,” he whispered. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“What kind of question is that?” she asked, her voice as low as Guy’s. “Of course I do.”
Guy nodded. “I want you to see your son. Look, I know I’m a druggie and you probably don’t trust me, but my intentions are sincere.”
Mercy’s brown eyes glistened. She smiled a little. “Do you have a plan?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Just do as I say.”
“So what were you before you became a…you know…” Mercy seemed to struggle to find the right words.
“I was a nothing, really,” Guy replied. “I play bass… I was trying to launch a music career. Besides from that, I just stayed home watching CSI and Law and Order all day while my partner was at work.”
Mercy grinned. “What was her name? What happened to her?”
“His name was Chris,” Guy said.
Mercy gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” he smiled. “He was an assassin… He was killed around three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” Mercy patted Guy on the back, trying to comfort him. He shrugged her hand off, and got back to driving.
“What’s your son’s name?” Guy asked.
Mercy opened her mouth to reply, but a loud siren drowned her words.
“Fuck.” Guy pulled over, and slammed his head against the steering wheel.
Someone strolled over to the car. Mercy shifted in her seat a little, Guy searched through his wallet for his driver’s license.
“There you are,” David grinned. He chuckled.
“Fuck… Uh, hi…” Mercy smiled.
David moved closer to the car. “What is it – swearing day or something?”
“Fuck yeah,” Guy said, not realising who he was speaking to. He looked up to see David. Guy gasped. His breaths came faster.
Standing next to David – with the same evil grin on his face – was Chris.
“What the hell are you doing here, Chris?” Guy was shocked. Ice did cause hallucinations – maybe this was one of those.
It wasn’t.
“I’m here to recruit you to our mafia.”
Chapter 6
Guy was feeling dazed. He had no idea where he was, what the date was… He didn’t even know who the Prime Minister was.
He felt a sharp pain in his temple all of a sudden. He screamed in agony.
“Where am I?”
“Be quiet,” someone hushed. “It’ll all be over soon.”
For the next hour, Guy lay limp on – from what he’d established – an operating table.
“It’s finished now,” the person said. “You can open your eyes.”
Guy gently eased his eyelids open. He was almost blinded by the brightness. “What is this? What’s happening?” he yelled.
“Hmm, must’ve forgotten to turn off the lights,” the person muttered. They walked to the electricity box and fiddled with a few of the switches.
Guy gasped. “David… Is that you?”
David moved closer to him. “Yes, it is, Guy.”
“What did you do? Before, I mean?”
“Brain implantation device,” he replied simply.
Guy’s eyes bulged. “BRAIN IMPLANTATION DEVICE? WHAT?” he shouted.
“Every member of the mafia has one,” David shrugged. “Except me, of course, 'cause I’m the leader and all.”
“This doesn’t seem like a mafia at all,” Guy said once he’d finally calmed down. “It seems like a cult.”
David laughed. “Well, I guess you could call us a killing cult. We also eat llamas and carry sheets of bubble wrap in our Prada handbags.”
Guy wasn’t entirely sure if the last few things David mentioned were true or not. Guy saw a bright red bag sitting on the ground beside David’s feet, but decided to just ignore it.
“Why do I even need an implantation thingy?” Guy asked. “I don’t even remember agreeing to be part of this mafia-cult thing.”
“You didn’t,” David said. “As soon as you saw Chris standing next to me, you mumbled something or other and then you collapsed. And having an implantation device will help our technical team track your whereabouts around the clock. If you get lost on a hit we’ll know where to find you.”
Guy nodded. “Where’s Chris? Where’s Mercy?”
“Chris… He’s on holidays, clearing his head. He can’t believe that you’re back. Mercy…” David paused. “We disposed of Mercy.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew what we did.” David checked the clock. “She didn’t know that we’re a mafia. Mercy thought we were merely drug dealing giants.”
A knock came from a door. Guy didn’t know which one, though. There were so many of the in the room.
“Come in,” yelled David. “Ah, Number Eighteen. Yes, what might you be here for?”
“A meeting,” the so called ‘Number Eighteen’ smiled. He was wearing a mahogany-coloured cloak.
“Come with us, Guy. You'll receive a number soon.”
Chapter 7
One would think Guy was a loner. He sat in the corner by himself all day long. Whenever they let him out of the cell, he’d roam the halls, sighing in despair as he heard yet another cheesy romantic comedy sounding from the lounge room.
He was crazy. He was sick of being locked up in this cult. He wanted to be different…not an easy task when everyone is forced to wear matching cloaks. Guy wanted to watch a James fucking Bond movie; not this Meg Ryan crap.
“Lunch time.”
Guy turned, though he knew what he’d see – a brick wall, the eyes of a pimply teenager who was sliding a ham and cheese sandwich through the slot.
“Thanks, son.” Guy grabbed the bag. He opened it. Maybe Guy had gotten lucky and Chris or David had enclosed a new book. Frankly, he was sick of reading Twilight and that Paris Hilton autobiography.
Nope, no new novels… but a note instead.
Meet me at dinnertime in the garden. You’ll need a permit to get in. Talk to George at the front desk and show him this note. David.
Guy was walking to the garden. He hadn’t a clue where it was, though; Guy had never needed to go there in the six months he had been trapped in the cult’s headquarters.
He saw a large wire gate and a guard standing in front of it.
“Uh…hi…” Guy said, smiling awkwardly. “I’m here to see David.”
“Got a permit?” The man look dozed, like he was on drugs. That reminded Guy…he hadn’t had any ice in over twenty-four hours. He needed to ask David to get him some.
Guy pulled the licence from one of the many pockets on his cloak. “Here.”
The guard opened the lock. “Have fun,” he mumbled. Someone obviously hated their job.
“Ah, Guy,” David smiled, “it’s great to see you. Now, tell me something… Would you like to get out of here?”
Guy took a seat on the chair. He noticed another man was sitting at the table, also. “Are you kidding me?” Guy asked. “Of course.”
“Guy, meet Jon.” David pointed in the direction of the other man. “Jon, meet Guy.”
Jon rose from his seat and offered a hand to Guy. “Hi, Guy,” he greeted. “And it’s Jonny.”
“Guy, Jon would like you to do a hit for him,” David said.
Jonny nodded. “Yes. I understand you’ve got a good history. You should be right to perform it unaided.”
“Yes,” Guy confirmed, “but would I get freed, like you told me before, David?
Jonny answered the question instead. “Yes, you’d be working for me and my associates, if that counts. You wouldn’t be locked in the cells, but you would still belong to the mafia.”
Guy didn’t reply; he was busy assessing the choices. Honestly, both sounded rather unappealing. The cells were horrible; he felt so guilty after doing a hit.
“What do you say?” Jonny smiled. “It’s really the best opportunity. You’d get three weeks vacation a year. That’s pretty good…”
Guy sighed. “OK. I’ll do it.” He didn't want to. He had to. He could not stand another day in that hellhole.
“Fantastic,” David grinned. He hugged Guy tightly. “Jon, care to share the details with Guy… Who he’d be…getting rid of…”
Jonny handed over a folder bursting with thousands of sheets of paper. Guy flicked through them quickly.
“What’s their name?” Guy asked.
“Will Champion roughed up my kid,” Jonny said. “Now it’s your turn to rough up Will Champion.”
Chapter 8
Jonathan.
Fuck you.
You know what? That felt so good, I’m going to write it again.
FUCK YOU.
I don’t know what that incompetent son of yours told you. Whatever it was, whatever made you pay someone to kill me, is not true.
Do you want to know what really happened? Do you want to hear it from a reliable source?
Well, that idiot kid caught us having some fun in the tub, and – with his shitty sense of judgement – he thought I was raping you.
He started having a go at me for ‘stealing your innocence’ or something preposterous like that. Then, he started threatening me with a butcher’s cleaver, so I hit him a little… And then you – only seeing a teeny little part of the fight – decided to throw your ‘true love’ out of the window and out of your life.
He's a fucking dumbass – like father, like son, I guess. Albinism is hereditary; so is cancer… Hell, why not idiocy, too? You're even worse.
Your assassin need not worry about killing me; I’d rather keep my dignity and do the act myself.
This time, I’m the one with the knife in hand. I’m the one who has the power. I’m the one that has control. I’m the winner.
And you can’t do a fucking thing about it.
Will scanned through the contents of the letter briefly before printing it out.
Within seconds, he was holding a sheet of paper. He pinned it to his shirt, and, sighing, began making the future clear by sinking a knife deep into his heart, which had been broken a long time ago.
Goodbye, fucker.
Chapter 9
“What happened, Guy?” Jonny asked, puffing on an expensive looking cigar. “You were supposed to kill Will; not have him do it himself.”
“Will’s dead?”
Jonny rolled his eyes. “Well, why else would I have called this meeting?” he retorted.
“Look, I’m sorry, Jonny,” Guy apologised, “but I still don’t understand why we’re having a meeting. Will’s dead… that’s what you wanted, right?”
“Yes, I did want Will to die, and I am glad that he’s not alive anymore,” Jonny said. “That’s not the point, though. He needed to suffer. He didn’t. Simple.”
Guy shifted in his seat, turning his head around uncomfortably as smoke from Jonny’s cigar hit his face. He might have been a druggie, but, oddly enough, one thing he couldn’t stand was cigarette smoke.
Quietly, Guy asked, “What do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you to inform the person that told Will about me hiring you to assassinate him-”
“How will I know who he is?’ Guy interjected. “How will I know where he is?”
Jonny sat in silence for a few seconds. “Go on a TV show or something; warn him there, I don’t know. Figure something out.” He shook his head around. “Just do it.”
“OK,” Guy sighed. “I will.”
Guy was lurking around the set of a television show. He wasn’t sure which program it was, but he was certain of what he was about to do.
“Just set it to cook and you’re off the hook!” a loud voice boomed.
Guy slid a pair of pantyhose over his head, and grabbed a pocketknife from his bag.
Nonchalantly, he strolled over to the bench in the studio.
“Hey…Mr. T…” Guy said.
Guy edged closer to him, tossing the knife around playfully.
A few of the backstage assistants screamed as they realised what was happening. Guy plugged his ears.
“Shut up, everyone!” he yelled, raising the knife in the air like a lunatic. Wait – scratch that – he already was a lunatic. “Now, you-” he pointed to the cameraman “-zoom the camera in on me.”
Terrified, the cameraman did as instructed.
“Is this a live broadcast?” Guy demanded, holding the knife against a woman named Darla’s throat.
The director shook his head. “N-no,” he stuttered. “B-but we can m-m-make it one,” he added after hearing the annoyance in Guy’s tone.
“Good.”
“OK, it’s live n-now,” announced the director, his voice breaking.
Guy dragged Darla toward the camera a little more, still clutching the blade on her neck.
“I’m here today,” he began, “to warn a little friend of mine. I don’t know his name, but he tipped Will Champion off about a hit occurring. Now, if you’re watching, I’d like to tell you to look out. We’re coming for you. We’ll get you, regardless of where you run, where you hide. You’ve been warned. And to show you I’m serious…” Guy left the sentence unfinished.
He ran the blade along the course of Darla’s neck, plunging it in deeply. His hands were soon covered in blood, but this didn’t bother Guy.
Instead of washing his hands, he picked up a FlavourWave microwave oven and whacked it over Mr. T’s head repeatedly.
After his killing spree, Guy dumped the two bodies on top of each other as the studio crew watched in horror, and, eventually, drove to a place he needed to go.
Chapter 10
Guy and Chris sat in the booth, fingers entwined. Guy was tapping on the bench, loud and repetitively, while Chris was staring forward blankly.
“Guy,” said Chris solemnly, “this wasn’t the right thing to do. Jonny’s a bad man, sure, but does he really deserve to die?”
“Did Will deserve to die? Did all those other innocent people he killed deserve to die?”
The faces of the murdered appeared in Guy’s mind. It had been a year since he dobbed Jonny into the police. Guy told them Jonny’s past crimes, and it was revealed he had had two prior convictions of manslaughter.
David disappeared without a trace. As soon as Jonny had been locked up and the papers recounting his crimes hit the newsstands, David must’ve grown fearful he would soon be joining Jonny and left.
The curtains were drawn, and behind them Jonny was looking grey and scrawny. He had a glint of vengeance in his eyes.
A man rubbed some alcohol onto Jonny’s arm, and placed some kind of drip on each, though Guy didn’t know what type it was, and, frankly, he didn’t really care.
“Jonny,” the guard said, “you can have some final words, if you’d like.”
“My final words?” Jonny spat. “Fuck you, Guy. Fuck you, Chris. Fuck you all. I did nothing wrong in my life. This is a mistake. It’s all a fucking mistake!” he yelled.
The guard attached a heart monitor to Jonny. A man in a long white coat put three needles into Jonny’s arm. As the man was inserting the first one, Chris gripped onto Guy’s hand harder, after seeing Jonny become unconscious on the gurney.
Guy and Chris looked away. Guy was quite interested to see how the procedure worked, but turned in respect of Chris, who was almost vomiting.
“His heart has stopped,” announced the coat fifteen minutes later. “He’s gone.”
Chris sprinted out the door, and Guy took one last look at Jonny before running out after Chris.
Guy found Chris in the car park. He gave Guy a huge hug.
“We can have a new life now,” Chris said through tears. “We’re not stuck in that mafia any more. We can start over.”
“I’d like that,” smiled Guy. “Now, let’s get some ice cream to cheer you up!”
The end
Chris could feel the adrenaline running through his veins. He raised the knife high above his head and grinned when he heard the cry of terror coming from the woman lying on the concrete.
“Help!” she shrieked, her scream bloodcurdling. Chris ignored this, though; he was too aroused. He wasn’t going to let her ruin his fun any time soon. He put a hand to her mouth in an attempt to muffle her sobs.
”Could you be quiet, yeah? I don’t want anyone to know we’re here.” Chris looked around the murky alley, checking to make sure no one was watching. He could make out a slight figure shifting in the darkness.
Chris sprinted to the person whose face he couldn’t see. The person seemed to shake their head a little, in shock, probably. Chris tackled the man to the ground, and hit him over the head with a nearby hammer.
Chris dragged the man a few metres up the alley, and dropped his body adjacent the woman’s. She had tried to crawl away, Chris noticed. Her body had shifted a few inches, but her movement was most likely restricted by the severe injuries she suffered.
He decided to stop dillydallying, and searched the ground for his knife. When he retrieved it, he clutched it in his hand, which had started shaking a bit.
“Who’s first?” Rhetorical questions seemed like good ones to ask the helpless. They know its coming; they know they can’t stop it. It makes it more enjoyable to see the fear on their faces.
“Please…spare us,” gasped the man.
“You talk, you die.”
Chris let himself get a better grasp of the knife before plunging it deeply into the chest of the man. Blood flowed from the gash, forming a small pool on the cool concrete.
The female tried to squirm away, realising her fate. She didn’t get far before Chris dangled the knife over her head.
“Don’t.”
Chris lowered the knife and looked into the woman’s eyes.
“Don’t kill me.”
“OK,” he shrugged.
“Really?” Chris could see a glimpse of hope in her eyes.
He laughed. “What do you think?” Sarcasm, another great tool when killing someone. It plays with their feelings, makes them optimistic. When people are close to death, they don’t bother to listen to tones. Anything that comes out of others’ mouths they believe.
Chris lowered the knife into her stomach, stabbing repeatedly and evenly. Hey, if you’re doing something you may as well do it right. The woman turned on to her side and froze. Her blood fell into the man’s, the pool now a large river. Chris grabbed the female’s hand and put it into the man’s.
He salvaged his torch. It gave a rather dim glow; perfect, considering he was dead meat if anyone witnessed his wrongdoing.
He shone the light over the bodies.
Lying on the concrete, fingers entwined, were Britney Spears and Billy Ray Cyrus.
A photographer’s dream.
Chapter 2
Chris awoke to the sound of birds singing. Sunlight shone through the blinds, and this comforted him. Just knowing that no matter how shady a thing he did in the darkness could be forgotten with the rising sun made him feel better.
He rolled over to check the time, and realised Guy wasn’t lying next to him. He had returned home after killing the two celebrities. Guy was already in bed when he got back, sleeping peacefully. Chris just lay down beside him, watching him in his slumber.
Chris sauntered to the kitchen, hoping to see Guy there.
“Oh, did I wake you up?” Guy frowned. He put down his coffee mug and newspaper and made his way into Chris’ arms.
“No. I have to go to work soon,” Chris said. “Hey, can I have some coffee… I’m a little tired.”
Guy smiled. “Of course.” He made his way to the kettle. “Guess what?”
“What?”
“Well, Britney Spears and Billy Ray Cyrus were killed.” Guy shrugged his shoulders, facing away from Chris. “There’s a big conspiracy surrounding it now. The news anchors are claiming they were having a secret love affair.”
Chris raised his eyebrows. “Really?” He had almost mastered the art of lying. It’s an essential skill in murder. If you’re being questioned down at the police station over manslaughter, what are you going to say? Yes? Or would you deny it but then crack up into fits of laughter?
“Really.” Guy handed Chris a cup of coffee. “They were lying on the concrete in an alleyway off Smith Street holding hands. Apparently Billy turned to Britney after his cash cow daughter Miley was murdered. He wanted to steal her money or something like that.”
Chris laughed. “His career is washed-up, I guess,” he said, trying to make light of the situation, trying to be convincing.
Guy, on the other hand, didn’t seem to get the joke. “Was. And these celebrity murders are awful. How many have there been in the past fortnight? Eight? I mean, I don’t – didn’t – like Charlie Sheen, but would I go and kill him?”
Chris took a seat at the table, being careful not to slop the coffee over the white lacy tablecloth. “If you saw one more episode of Two and a Half Men you would have.”
“Your jokes aren’t funny.” Guy leaned against the archway, arms crossed. He checked his watch. “And you better start heading to work. You don’t want to be late again.”
Chris downed the coffee quickly and slammed the mug onto the table. “I guess I better.” He walked toward Guy and gave him a quick kiss. “I’ll see you soon,” he said, before heading out the door.
Chris strolled to his car, getting ready to drive. Nowhere in particular, in fact.
He actually didn’t have a job. Each day he’d drive to Starbucks or the park and sit down, planning who his next victim would be. This usually depended on Chris’s mood. If he was happy, he’d kill an old eighties motivational band member. Sad and he’d execute someone from The Bold and the Beautiful, because that show made him feel so depressed.
Today, Chris was sitting in the corner of the jumping castle at the theme park. It struck him as odd that the people in administration would let him enter. He didn’t have any kids with him; he could be a paedophile for all they knew. Or a serial killer.
“Excuse me.” Chris raised his eyes from his pad of paper to see a small child standing in front of him. “What are you doing?” asked the little girl.
“Making a list,” Chris mumbled. “Hey, what’s your name?”
She laughed. Kids – they find almost anything amusing. “Molly.”
“Well, Molly,” he said, “what music artists do you listen to?”
“I love Daughtry,” she smiled. “And he’s touring here at the moment. I’m eager to see him perform.” Chris was impressed. For a four-year-old, Molly had an unusually wide vocabulary.
Chris cringed. “Daughtry, huh?”
“Yep.”
“Thank you, Molly. Why don’t you go back to jumping now?” he suggested.
“Okay!” She bounced away from Chris. Molly reminded Chris of a younger version of himself, so energetic and hyper.
Chris grabbed his pen and wrote one single word – or name, rather:
Daughtry.
Chapter 3
As the waiter strolled past him, Chris grabbed a glass of champagne. He took a seat on the lush sofa next to Daughtry.
“Oh, hello. Aren’t you a sexy young thing?” Daughtry winked at Chris.
Chris giggled and put a lock of blonde hair behind his ear. It was actually quite easy to adopt female mannerisms, he found. Basic etiquette is a must; flicking your tresses around a little helps. Seal the deal with a jaw-dropping outfit like Chris’s – satin dress, sky-high stilettos, a long-haired blonde wig – and you’ll be set to go.
“Thank you,” Chris laughed. “You’re not too bad yourself.” He managed a smile, but he was gagging on the inside. He knew he had to maintain the act, though. It was the only way to lure this idiot to his death.
“How’d you enjoy the show tonight?” Daughtry had a mouth full of caviar, but he was still determined to talk. Why would caviar even be served at a bogan’s after party? Chris had no idea.
Chris cringed, and said the words he never expected to come out of his mouth. “It was great. You were amazing out there.”
“Thank you, darlin’,” Daughtry wrapped his arm around Chris’ shoulder. Chris moved back a little, but, realising he had to act convincingly – as a lady would – he scooted back to Daughtry. “What’s your name, honey?”
“My name is…” Chris actually hadn’t thought about names. Chris thought he would just seduce him and kill him. He didn’t recognise that there was another step before the wooing. “My name is Jane.” It was the first one that popped into Chris’s mind.
“Jane. Pretty name.” Daughtry’s eyes lit up. Chris didn’t know why, though. Maybe Chris was doing a good job at charming him. “That rhymes!”
An awkward smile spread across Chris’s face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It does…”
“I have to write a song about you.” Chris grinned wider, and chuckled a little. “Or your name, at least.”
“Well,” Chris grabbed the idiot’s hand, “why don’t you get to know me a little better.”
Daughtry hesitated. Why? Chris was smokin’… Well, he thought he was, at least. Chris began playing with his hair; a girly thing to do. “I don’t really-”
“Nonsense.” Chris grasped Daughtry’s hand and led him out of the hotel. They kept on walking until Chris came to a stop at a nearby bench.
It was dark out, and there was no one around. Chris wanted this though. He wasn’t about to murder someone in broad daylight. Even an infant would know not to do that.
“So, how old are you?” Daughtry inquired. “You don’t look a day past twenty.”
Chris lay down on the damp grass. “I’m twenty-two, and you should come and sit here with me.” He spread his body out over the lawn to demonstrate its comfort.
Daughtry began to bend down. By all the groaning noises he made, Chris inferred Daughtry either wasn’t very fit, or just older than he Chris thought he was. Or a mixture of both.
“It’s lovely,” Daughtry murmured when he finally reached the ground.
“You know what else is lovely?” Chris looked over at Daughtry, batting his eyelashes like a young schoolgirl. Daughtry returned the expression. “Killing.”
Daughtry still seemed to be mesmerised by Chris’s eyes, and he hadn’t realised what Chris had said. This brought Chris some time, which he needed for it to work out well.
Chris removed the brown belt from around his waist. He moved closer to Daughtry.
“Killing? What?” Daughtry looked around, panicked. Finally he pays attention.
“That’s right,” grinned Chris. He put the belt around the idiot’s neck. “You heard correctly.” He took the wig from his head and the heels from his feet off. No need to be uncomfortable.
Daughtry’s eyes widened. “You’re…a man.”
“A man that’s about to murder you,” Chris corrected. He wrapped the belt around Daughtry’s neck a few times.
“No!”
Daughtry sat up and grabbed a nearby stick. He began poking Chris with it, but it didn’t hurt him a bit.
“Since you’re impatient,” Chris snapped, “you can get the quick option.”
Chris opened up his purse and collected the shotgun. He cradled it in his hands, before dropping the rifle onto the grass. Intimidation works fantastically, as well. Just like rhetorical questions, it creates a look of hope upon their faces. But when they reach out for the gun and see it’s already in your hands, the hope disappears. It’s really quite hilarious, Chris found.
“Time to die.”
And with that, Chris pulled the trigger of the shotgun, leaving a single hole in Daughtry’s head.
The idiot dropped to the ground and blood started pouring out of his head.
Chris wandered over to the carcass, and pulled out his makeup bag. He grabbed a tube of lip gloss and spread it on Daughtry’s lips. Chris placed the wig he was previously wearing atop Daughtry’s head, and slid the dress on his body.
Chris could imagine the headlines already: American Idol Alum’s Secret Double Life.
Chris laughed, and grabbed a list from his purse.
He crossed off a name. Daughtry.
Chapter 4
“You didn’t think you’d end up here, did you?”
Chris shook his head, one of the only ways to communicate when your mouth is taped shut.
He tried one more time to project his voice through the boundaries of the masking tape, but to no avail. His cries were lost.
“Hmm?”
The man sat down on a chair opposite Chris’s. His eyes glowed an unnatural shade of red as he raised his arm.
“Do you want me to take the tape off?”
Chris nodded eagerly.
“OK, then. You’ve been a good boy,” the man said. He grabbed onto the piece of tape concealing Chris’s mouth, and pulled it hard, removing a few hairs.
Chris gasped. He tried to stand up, but, to his disgust, discovered he was tied to the seat. He sunk back into the chair, hitting his head on the way down.
“Th-th-thank you,” Chris managed to blurt out.
“That’s no problem, Christopher. But–” the inevitable word; it’s always bound to show up in any conversation “–I need to tell you something first; before I free you.”
Chris bit his lip. “OK.”
“You need to know that you won’t live much longer,” the man replied.
“What?”
The man gave Chris a grave expression. “My boss has put a hit out on you,” he said. “You’re going to die.”
“Guy,” Chris said. “I have to tell you something.”
Guy smiled. “Sure, Chris. What is it?”
Chris sighed deeply. There really isn’t any gentle way to tell someone you’re going to be murdered. “Someone is going to kill me soon.”
He watched a tear form in Guy’s eye. “Really?”
“Yes,” Chris said, sighing. “I was held hostage by Samuel L. Jackson today. He told me.”
“Look.” Chris rubbed Guy’s shoulder. “I’ve done some regrettable things in my lifetime… But I need you to promise me something.”
“Of course. Anything…” Guy left his sentence unfinished.
Chris cleared his throat. “My grandfather…He was an assassin. He passed it down to my father. My father…He passed the job down to me. Guy, we don’t have any kids…no one to pass it down to. This is an important part of my family.”
“Yes…” Guy was confused.
“Will you take over my role?”
Guy looked up at Chris. Guy could see the pain in his eyes. “For you… Yes…”
Chapter 5
The house was filthy. The living room was dimly lit; a tattered blood-stained blanket was sprawled hastily across the holey couch. Ants, cockroaches and termites infested the building.
Guy was sitting at the wooden table, which he guessed the termites had gotten to. Anyone would think he was a ghost. He was so white, his eyes were so bloodshot. Not to mention how thin he was.
He tapped his watch impatiently. “How long will this take?”
“Not too long,” said Mercy, leaning over the stove.
Guy waited and waited, reading a gossip magazine from the nineties.
“Here you go,” she smiled. Mercy handed a large bag over to Guy. “I gave you a little extra. Don’t tell David, please.” She looked over her shoulder to see the subject of conversation. David was a fierce man, though his pale skin and red curly hair wouldn’t show it.
“Of course not.” Guy gave Mercy a little kiss. Her breath smelled of cigarettes and vodka. Guy wondered how long it had been since she last brushed her teeth. He knew all of the women who worked there were pushed to their limits; that they weren’t paid or treated fairly. He knew for a fact none of them wanted to be there; that their husbands’ debts were so great they had to sell their wives’; that they were abducted and stolen, forced.
What Guy didn’t know, however, was that the women didn’t get fed. If one of their clients had some food that they wanted to give them, it was acceptable, as they owned the lady for the night… But when they had to work in the factory – like Mercy – they weren’t given anything to eat, no water to drink.
Mercy had a son back in her hometown. It saddened Guy to think that Mercy would never see her child…her child would never see his mother.
“Mercy,” Guy said.
She didn’t look up; she was concentrating on her work. “Yes, Guy?”
“I have a plan,” he whispered. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“What kind of question is that?” she asked, her voice as low as Guy’s. “Of course I do.”
Guy nodded. “I want you to see your son. Look, I know I’m a druggie and you probably don’t trust me, but my intentions are sincere.”
Mercy’s brown eyes glistened. She smiled a little. “Do you have a plan?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Just do as I say.”
“So what were you before you became a…you know…” Mercy seemed to struggle to find the right words.
“I was a nothing, really,” Guy replied. “I play bass… I was trying to launch a music career. Besides from that, I just stayed home watching CSI and Law and Order all day while my partner was at work.”
Mercy grinned. “What was her name? What happened to her?”
“His name was Chris,” Guy said.
Mercy gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“No problem,” he smiled. “He was an assassin… He was killed around three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” Mercy patted Guy on the back, trying to comfort him. He shrugged her hand off, and got back to driving.
“What’s your son’s name?” Guy asked.
Mercy opened her mouth to reply, but a loud siren drowned her words.
“Fuck.” Guy pulled over, and slammed his head against the steering wheel.
Someone strolled over to the car. Mercy shifted in her seat a little, Guy searched through his wallet for his driver’s license.
“There you are,” David grinned. He chuckled.
“Fuck… Uh, hi…” Mercy smiled.
David moved closer to the car. “What is it – swearing day or something?”
“Fuck yeah,” Guy said, not realising who he was speaking to. He looked up to see David. Guy gasped. His breaths came faster.
Standing next to David – with the same evil grin on his face – was Chris.
“What the hell are you doing here, Chris?” Guy was shocked. Ice did cause hallucinations – maybe this was one of those.
It wasn’t.
“I’m here to recruit you to our mafia.”
Chapter 6
Guy was feeling dazed. He had no idea where he was, what the date was… He didn’t even know who the Prime Minister was.
He felt a sharp pain in his temple all of a sudden. He screamed in agony.
“Where am I?”
“Be quiet,” someone hushed. “It’ll all be over soon.”
For the next hour, Guy lay limp on – from what he’d established – an operating table.
“It’s finished now,” the person said. “You can open your eyes.”
Guy gently eased his eyelids open. He was almost blinded by the brightness. “What is this? What’s happening?” he yelled.
“Hmm, must’ve forgotten to turn off the lights,” the person muttered. They walked to the electricity box and fiddled with a few of the switches.
Guy gasped. “David… Is that you?”
David moved closer to him. “Yes, it is, Guy.”
“What did you do? Before, I mean?”
“Brain implantation device,” he replied simply.
Guy’s eyes bulged. “BRAIN IMPLANTATION DEVICE? WHAT?” he shouted.
“Every member of the mafia has one,” David shrugged. “Except me, of course, 'cause I’m the leader and all.”
“This doesn’t seem like a mafia at all,” Guy said once he’d finally calmed down. “It seems like a cult.”
David laughed. “Well, I guess you could call us a killing cult. We also eat llamas and carry sheets of bubble wrap in our Prada handbags.”
Guy wasn’t entirely sure if the last few things David mentioned were true or not. Guy saw a bright red bag sitting on the ground beside David’s feet, but decided to just ignore it.
“Why do I even need an implantation thingy?” Guy asked. “I don’t even remember agreeing to be part of this mafia-cult thing.”
“You didn’t,” David said. “As soon as you saw Chris standing next to me, you mumbled something or other and then you collapsed. And having an implantation device will help our technical team track your whereabouts around the clock. If you get lost on a hit we’ll know where to find you.”
Guy nodded. “Where’s Chris? Where’s Mercy?”
“Chris… He’s on holidays, clearing his head. He can’t believe that you’re back. Mercy…” David paused. “We disposed of Mercy.”
“Why?”
“Because she knew what we did.” David checked the clock. “She didn’t know that we’re a mafia. Mercy thought we were merely drug dealing giants.”
A knock came from a door. Guy didn’t know which one, though. There were so many of the in the room.
“Come in,” yelled David. “Ah, Number Eighteen. Yes, what might you be here for?”
“A meeting,” the so called ‘Number Eighteen’ smiled. He was wearing a mahogany-coloured cloak.
“Come with us, Guy. You'll receive a number soon.”
Chapter 7
One would think Guy was a loner. He sat in the corner by himself all day long. Whenever they let him out of the cell, he’d roam the halls, sighing in despair as he heard yet another cheesy romantic comedy sounding from the lounge room.
He was crazy. He was sick of being locked up in this cult. He wanted to be different…not an easy task when everyone is forced to wear matching cloaks. Guy wanted to watch a James fucking Bond movie; not this Meg Ryan crap.
“Lunch time.”
Guy turned, though he knew what he’d see – a brick wall, the eyes of a pimply teenager who was sliding a ham and cheese sandwich through the slot.
“Thanks, son.” Guy grabbed the bag. He opened it. Maybe Guy had gotten lucky and Chris or David had enclosed a new book. Frankly, he was sick of reading Twilight and that Paris Hilton autobiography.
Nope, no new novels… but a note instead.
Meet me at dinnertime in the garden. You’ll need a permit to get in. Talk to George at the front desk and show him this note. David.
Guy was walking to the garden. He hadn’t a clue where it was, though; Guy had never needed to go there in the six months he had been trapped in the cult’s headquarters.
He saw a large wire gate and a guard standing in front of it.
“Uh…hi…” Guy said, smiling awkwardly. “I’m here to see David.”
“Got a permit?” The man look dozed, like he was on drugs. That reminded Guy…he hadn’t had any ice in over twenty-four hours. He needed to ask David to get him some.
Guy pulled the licence from one of the many pockets on his cloak. “Here.”
The guard opened the lock. “Have fun,” he mumbled. Someone obviously hated their job.
“Ah, Guy,” David smiled, “it’s great to see you. Now, tell me something… Would you like to get out of here?”
Guy took a seat on the chair. He noticed another man was sitting at the table, also. “Are you kidding me?” Guy asked. “Of course.”
“Guy, meet Jon.” David pointed in the direction of the other man. “Jon, meet Guy.”
Jon rose from his seat and offered a hand to Guy. “Hi, Guy,” he greeted. “And it’s Jonny.”
“Guy, Jon would like you to do a hit for him,” David said.
Jonny nodded. “Yes. I understand you’ve got a good history. You should be right to perform it unaided.”
“Yes,” Guy confirmed, “but would I get freed, like you told me before, David?
Jonny answered the question instead. “Yes, you’d be working for me and my associates, if that counts. You wouldn’t be locked in the cells, but you would still belong to the mafia.”
Guy didn’t reply; he was busy assessing the choices. Honestly, both sounded rather unappealing. The cells were horrible; he felt so guilty after doing a hit.
“What do you say?” Jonny smiled. “It’s really the best opportunity. You’d get three weeks vacation a year. That’s pretty good…”
Guy sighed. “OK. I’ll do it.” He didn't want to. He had to. He could not stand another day in that hellhole.
“Fantastic,” David grinned. He hugged Guy tightly. “Jon, care to share the details with Guy… Who he’d be…getting rid of…”
Jonny handed over a folder bursting with thousands of sheets of paper. Guy flicked through them quickly.
“What’s their name?” Guy asked.
“Will Champion roughed up my kid,” Jonny said. “Now it’s your turn to rough up Will Champion.”
Chapter 8
Jonathan.
Fuck you.
You know what? That felt so good, I’m going to write it again.
FUCK YOU.
I don’t know what that incompetent son of yours told you. Whatever it was, whatever made you pay someone to kill me, is not true.
Do you want to know what really happened? Do you want to hear it from a reliable source?
Well, that idiot kid caught us having some fun in the tub, and – with his shitty sense of judgement – he thought I was raping you.
He started having a go at me for ‘stealing your innocence’ or something preposterous like that. Then, he started threatening me with a butcher’s cleaver, so I hit him a little… And then you – only seeing a teeny little part of the fight – decided to throw your ‘true love’ out of the window and out of your life.
He's a fucking dumbass – like father, like son, I guess. Albinism is hereditary; so is cancer… Hell, why not idiocy, too? You're even worse.
Your assassin need not worry about killing me; I’d rather keep my dignity and do the act myself.
This time, I’m the one with the knife in hand. I’m the one who has the power. I’m the one that has control. I’m the winner.
And you can’t do a fucking thing about it.
Will scanned through the contents of the letter briefly before printing it out.
Within seconds, he was holding a sheet of paper. He pinned it to his shirt, and, sighing, began making the future clear by sinking a knife deep into his heart, which had been broken a long time ago.
Goodbye, fucker.
Chapter 9
“What happened, Guy?” Jonny asked, puffing on an expensive looking cigar. “You were supposed to kill Will; not have him do it himself.”
“Will’s dead?”
Jonny rolled his eyes. “Well, why else would I have called this meeting?” he retorted.
“Look, I’m sorry, Jonny,” Guy apologised, “but I still don’t understand why we’re having a meeting. Will’s dead… that’s what you wanted, right?”
“Yes, I did want Will to die, and I am glad that he’s not alive anymore,” Jonny said. “That’s not the point, though. He needed to suffer. He didn’t. Simple.”
Guy shifted in his seat, turning his head around uncomfortably as smoke from Jonny’s cigar hit his face. He might have been a druggie, but, oddly enough, one thing he couldn’t stand was cigarette smoke.
Quietly, Guy asked, “What do you want me to do about it?”
“I want you to inform the person that told Will about me hiring you to assassinate him-”
“How will I know who he is?’ Guy interjected. “How will I know where he is?”
Jonny sat in silence for a few seconds. “Go on a TV show or something; warn him there, I don’t know. Figure something out.” He shook his head around. “Just do it.”
“OK,” Guy sighed. “I will.”
Guy was lurking around the set of a television show. He wasn’t sure which program it was, but he was certain of what he was about to do.
“Just set it to cook and you’re off the hook!” a loud voice boomed.
Guy slid a pair of pantyhose over his head, and grabbed a pocketknife from his bag.
Nonchalantly, he strolled over to the bench in the studio.
“Hey…Mr. T…” Guy said.
Guy edged closer to him, tossing the knife around playfully.
A few of the backstage assistants screamed as they realised what was happening. Guy plugged his ears.
“Shut up, everyone!” he yelled, raising the knife in the air like a lunatic. Wait – scratch that – he already was a lunatic. “Now, you-” he pointed to the cameraman “-zoom the camera in on me.”
Terrified, the cameraman did as instructed.
“Is this a live broadcast?” Guy demanded, holding the knife against a woman named Darla’s throat.
The director shook his head. “N-no,” he stuttered. “B-but we can m-m-make it one,” he added after hearing the annoyance in Guy’s tone.
“Good.”
“OK, it’s live n-now,” announced the director, his voice breaking.
Guy dragged Darla toward the camera a little more, still clutching the blade on her neck.
“I’m here today,” he began, “to warn a little friend of mine. I don’t know his name, but he tipped Will Champion off about a hit occurring. Now, if you’re watching, I’d like to tell you to look out. We’re coming for you. We’ll get you, regardless of where you run, where you hide. You’ve been warned. And to show you I’m serious…” Guy left the sentence unfinished.
He ran the blade along the course of Darla’s neck, plunging it in deeply. His hands were soon covered in blood, but this didn’t bother Guy.
Instead of washing his hands, he picked up a FlavourWave microwave oven and whacked it over Mr. T’s head repeatedly.
After his killing spree, Guy dumped the two bodies on top of each other as the studio crew watched in horror, and, eventually, drove to a place he needed to go.
Chapter 10
Guy and Chris sat in the booth, fingers entwined. Guy was tapping on the bench, loud and repetitively, while Chris was staring forward blankly.
“Guy,” said Chris solemnly, “this wasn’t the right thing to do. Jonny’s a bad man, sure, but does he really deserve to die?”
“Did Will deserve to die? Did all those other innocent people he killed deserve to die?”
The faces of the murdered appeared in Guy’s mind. It had been a year since he dobbed Jonny into the police. Guy told them Jonny’s past crimes, and it was revealed he had had two prior convictions of manslaughter.
David disappeared without a trace. As soon as Jonny had been locked up and the papers recounting his crimes hit the newsstands, David must’ve grown fearful he would soon be joining Jonny and left.
The curtains were drawn, and behind them Jonny was looking grey and scrawny. He had a glint of vengeance in his eyes.
A man rubbed some alcohol onto Jonny’s arm, and placed some kind of drip on each, though Guy didn’t know what type it was, and, frankly, he didn’t really care.
“Jonny,” the guard said, “you can have some final words, if you’d like.”
“My final words?” Jonny spat. “Fuck you, Guy. Fuck you, Chris. Fuck you all. I did nothing wrong in my life. This is a mistake. It’s all a fucking mistake!” he yelled.
The guard attached a heart monitor to Jonny. A man in a long white coat put three needles into Jonny’s arm. As the man was inserting the first one, Chris gripped onto Guy’s hand harder, after seeing Jonny become unconscious on the gurney.
Guy and Chris looked away. Guy was quite interested to see how the procedure worked, but turned in respect of Chris, who was almost vomiting.
“His heart has stopped,” announced the coat fifteen minutes later. “He’s gone.”
Chris sprinted out the door, and Guy took one last look at Jonny before running out after Chris.
Guy found Chris in the car park. He gave Guy a huge hug.
“We can have a new life now,” Chris said through tears. “We’re not stuck in that mafia any more. We can start over.”
“I’d like that,” smiled Guy. “Now, let’s get some ice cream to cheer you up!”
The end
Cue Dramatic Music
"Well, well, well."
*dramatic music*
Will dropped his drumsticks and came to a halt in the middle of a hallway, he assumed. His eyes widened as he turned around.
"I've been expecting you."
*more dramatic music*
Will looked around. It was dark, to be expected at the dead of night. "Where are you?" he asked.
When no reply came, Will headed off, though he couldn't see a thing. It was probably only Chris. Will knew that the best way to deal with Chris was to ignore him.
"Arrgh!" Will felt a zap go through his veins. He jumped. Red lights flashed repeatedly with unsynchronised timing. "Where the hell am I?"
*dramatic music*
A deep laugh followed. The flashing lights stopped, replaced with a dim yellow glow. Will could now see his surroundings clearly.
A man with dark brown hair and eyes to match stared at him. He was sittng on a throne-like chair encrusted with diamonds and rubies. "The place where you belong."
"What are you talking about?" Will rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this. He had to catch a flight in an hour.
"You belong with us," repeated the man, his voice hoarse, "William Champion."
*more dramatic music*
"No!" yelled Will. "I don't!" He ran to the exit quicker than Chris on a sugar high. He got zapped again, though it hurt a lot more than last time. He groaned. The lights flashed again, along with an alarm ringing loudly.
Will's eyes fixed onto the dark haired man.
"Let me introduce myself," said the man. "My name is Guy. This is Jonny and-"
*some more dramatic music*
"I'm Chris!" interrupted the man who was off in a corner bouncing up and down.
*upbeat, eighties sitcom music*
Chris, Guy and Jonny? thought Will. Could it be? They do look a bit like my best friends, albeit the dark rings under their eyes.
"Today we will be," said Guy, "needing some time with you." He spat on the concrete.
"Ugh!" Will exclaimed. "Do you not have any manners at all? Gosh!"
The trio looked as if they were in excruciating pain.
"Arrgh!" Jonny screamed, clutching his stomach. "He said the codeword!!"
Chris clenched his teeth together, let out a yell and disappeared. Jonny and Guy followed.
*dramatic music (because it hasn't been used enough already)*
"Where are they?" Will mused, before three llamas walked through the door. He gasped, shocked.
"You are all...llamas..." Will shook his head and fell to the ground.
*just a little more dramatic music*
Guy grinned evilly. "Good. He fainted. Now we have some time to transform him before he wakes. Now he can truly be a member of our cult."
*no dramatic music*
"You missed your cue, Steve," the director called out. "CUT!"
The end
*dramatic music*
Will dropped his drumsticks and came to a halt in the middle of a hallway, he assumed. His eyes widened as he turned around.
"I've been expecting you."
*more dramatic music*
Will looked around. It was dark, to be expected at the dead of night. "Where are you?" he asked.
When no reply came, Will headed off, though he couldn't see a thing. It was probably only Chris. Will knew that the best way to deal with Chris was to ignore him.
"Arrgh!" Will felt a zap go through his veins. He jumped. Red lights flashed repeatedly with unsynchronised timing. "Where the hell am I?"
*dramatic music*
A deep laugh followed. The flashing lights stopped, replaced with a dim yellow glow. Will could now see his surroundings clearly.
A man with dark brown hair and eyes to match stared at him. He was sittng on a throne-like chair encrusted with diamonds and rubies. "The place where you belong."
"What are you talking about?" Will rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this. He had to catch a flight in an hour.
"You belong with us," repeated the man, his voice hoarse, "William Champion."
*more dramatic music*
"No!" yelled Will. "I don't!" He ran to the exit quicker than Chris on a sugar high. He got zapped again, though it hurt a lot more than last time. He groaned. The lights flashed again, along with an alarm ringing loudly.
Will's eyes fixed onto the dark haired man.
"Let me introduce myself," said the man. "My name is Guy. This is Jonny and-"
*some more dramatic music*
"I'm Chris!" interrupted the man who was off in a corner bouncing up and down.
*upbeat, eighties sitcom music*
Chris, Guy and Jonny? thought Will. Could it be? They do look a bit like my best friends, albeit the dark rings under their eyes.
"Today we will be," said Guy, "needing some time with you." He spat on the concrete.
"Ugh!" Will exclaimed. "Do you not have any manners at all? Gosh!"
The trio looked as if they were in excruciating pain.
"Arrgh!" Jonny screamed, clutching his stomach. "He said the codeword!!"
Chris clenched his teeth together, let out a yell and disappeared. Jonny and Guy followed.
*dramatic music (because it hasn't been used enough already)*
"Where are they?" Will mused, before three llamas walked through the door. He gasped, shocked.
"You are all...llamas..." Will shook his head and fell to the ground.
*just a little more dramatic music*
Guy grinned evilly. "Good. He fainted. Now we have some time to transform him before he wakes. Now he can truly be a member of our cult."
*no dramatic music*
"You missed your cue, Steve," the director called out. "CUT!"
The end
Separation, Communication and Devastation
Chapter 1
Howdy Jonny,
I miss you so much!
Camp is terrible.
There's this gang of bullies. Their names are George, Steve and Nate, and there's another one, I think, but he just wanders around with them.
I got my head flushed in the toilet. Twice. I got my photos of you flushed down the toilet, as well. (The toilet trick. Never seems to get old, does it?) I got my sunglasses stolen (you know, those awesome green ones). I've recieved so many wedgies I've stopped counting.
All I need is you and now I can't even look at you in photographs! How will I last? I've got another three weeks here. I need you to hug me, Jonny. I need you to say you love me.
Oh, and they cut off a huge lock of my hair. We're not allowed to use clippers or razors here so now I've got a giant bald spot and I've almost grown a beard!
What's that? The fashion police? COMING TO ARREST ME ON MULTIPLE COUNTS OF UNFABULOUSNESS?!
I know, I'm being a bit of a drama queen, but still... If this happened to you you'd be freaking out as well.
And I'm in two of the camp directors bad books' now, after I walked in on them having a bit too much fun after choir practice, if you know where I'm going with this...
I don't even know why my parents sent me here. If this is a band camp, then why are the instructors confiscating my guitar for no reason at all?
At least I've still got a pad of paper and a pen, I can still write songs, at least.
Speaking of which, I've enclosed a song I wrote for you. I hope you enjoy it.
In your reply to this letter, can you please tell me who won the cup? Thanks. And also, what're the latest happenings on House?
How have you been, also? I almost forgot to ask. I guess I was too busy ranting on to you about the bullies...
On a last note, can you please save me from this hellhole? It would be much appreciated.
Missing you so much words can't describe,
Chris xxx
Chapter 2
Hi Chris,
I LOVE YOU!!
Guess what? I fell down while playing baseball at school, and then some idiot dropped a metal baseball bat on my leg while I was still on the ground. I know! Now I have a broken leg, and its hard to move, but my parents are still making me go to school!!
Is the bullying really that bad, Chris, or are you exaggerating a bit?
If it really is that terrible then perhaps you should consider telling one of the instructors who doesn't hate you. It's not going to go away on its own, Chrissy.
Anyway, I've been okay, I guess. Missing you a lot.
Oh, I'm eating a chocolate bar as I write this. It makes me think of you.
We had to stage a mini musical in drama today and I had the best idea. I wanted to perform Why Do Alpacas Look Like Llamas?: A Christoper Martin and Jonathan Buckland Musical. That would've been so cool! But I got stuck with Randal, so we had to perform Randal the Vandal: The Musical. It was crap!
Don't worry about your hair, Chris. It'll grow back and I'm sure you still look hot.
Thank you for the song. It was lovely. And I've enclosed some photos of myself in here, just so you can see me.
And I have a giant project to do on King Henry VIII, so I haven't had any time to watch House or the cup. I'll ask someone tomorrow who won.
Camp is so far away from my house, though, so I guess I can't save you. That makes me sad. Anyway, when you come back, my arms will be wide open.
And Corey stole our spot in the cafeteria. I know! We have to take revenge on him when you get back.
I can't wait to see you.
And try not to walk in on any more camp directors. It would only give the bullies another reason to, well, bully you.
Love, Jonny.
(P.S. My parents say hi to you.)
Chapter 3
Jonny! Jonny! Jonny!
Guess what? You'll never believe it... I made a friend!
It's so cool. Her name is Simone. She's a selective mute, but that's okay, we communicate in writing. Isn't that awesome?
But I thought that having a friend around me all the time would make the bullies go away, but now they're pickiing on me even more!! I haven't told the instructors yet but I might need to. Yesterday they stole my clothes and towel while I was in the shower.
Speaking of which, I know you told me not to walk in on any more camp directors, but I kind of did. It's not what you think, though. The instructor is meant to be vegetarian but I saw her eating a hot dog. She swore me to secrecy and blackmailed me. She said that if I tell anyone she eats meat, then she'll spread the photos of you and me kissing around.
Oh, and four of the photos you sent me got stolen. I've only got eight left now.
I'm definitely over this camp... They won't let me eat chocolate. I know, right! I used to be up all night because I ate too much chocolate, but now I'm an insomniac because I don't eat any.
And, by the way, what type of chocolate were you eating before?
Do you think you could send me some? Just a small Kit-Kat or Twix bar. Anything. I need a fix!!!
Randal the Vandal? Pssh. That would be crap. When I get back we'll have to make Why Do Alpacas Look Like Llamas?: A Christopher Martin and Jonathan Buckland Musical and perform it to my parents.
King Henry VII? Does everyone in class have to do a project on him or did you just choose it?
That makes me feel so much better. I can't wait to come back home and give you a hug.
And plant a bomb in Corey's locker or something. A stink bomb!! We can't just sit merely and let him steal our spot.
How is your leg, by the way? I almost forgot to ask. I was rambling again, I guess... I wish I was there to kiss it better.
You don't know how lovely you are,
I want to run away very, very far,
So you can hold me in your arms
And we'll escape the drama.
Together, we'll watch Ultimate Robot Fighting Llamas.
Love Chrissyboo xxx
(P.S. Remember the chocolate!!)
(P.P.S. That little poem was really terrible. Forget you saw it. It never existed, okay?)
(P.P.P.S. Actually make a mental note of Ultimate Robot Fighting Llamas. I want to watch that someday. Because you know if I made a mental note, I'd lose it somewhere.)
Chapter 4
Hi Chris,
What poem? I never saw any poem.
I'm so glad you've made a friend. Is she from here? Wait, let me rephrase: Does she live in the same town as us? Does she go to our school?
Definitely tell the instructors. You've only got what, two weeks to go? Make sure you have fun.
You'll last with eight photos, right? Tell me if any more get stolen, because I'll send more, then.
I've enclosed a small block of chocolate. Sorry, it was all I could find. And make sure no one else sees you eating it, because, think about it, you'd probably get the block stolen.
I was eating some M 'n M's when I wrote that last letter, by the way.
Trust me, Chris, it was really crap. You wouldn't have wanted to see that. I had to be tooth decay for some reason even though there was nothing related to teeth in the musical. It was just Randal running around like an idiot and me running around like an idiotic piece of tooth decay!!
And, we were given an instruction to choose a significant historical figure and do a project about them. I just chose Henry VII because, well, no reason actually.
Oh, and it turns out nobody at school watched the World Spelling Cup. And nobody watched House, either. Sorry.
If I can find one, I'll plant a stinkbomb in Corey's locker tomorrow. I'll ask my little brother if he has one. I mean, come on, what nine year old boy doesn't have a stinkbomb?
Chrissy, you know I'd love nothing more than for you to kiss my leg better. Oh, I miss you. Anyway, it's okay, I guess. It still hurts, though, and while I was working on my history project (you know, on King Henry VIII) someone graffitied on my cast. I don't know how I didn't notice them drawing on it, but anyway... They wrote 'Jonny loves Chris' on it, which is actually a good thing!!
Guess what? Ryan flipped out in class yesterday and threw a chair at Mrs Gibson. She ended up going to hospital. You've been missing so much (not!)
And I'll throw a coming home party for you, and we'll watch Ultimate Robot Fighting Llamas and eat lots of chocolate.
Love you. Don't get into any trouble, please,
Jonny.
Chapter 5
Dear Mr. Jonathan Mark Buckland,
I have something I need to tell you... I'm pregnant...
Just kidding. I was just trying to start this letter of dramatically, you know, like they do on those crappy soap operas.
Anyway, moving on...
I don't know where Simone lives, actually. Now that the weather's really hot she can't grip onto her pencil. Because she sweats so much it just slides out of her hand, so we haven't been able to communicate. I still hang with her, though.
I told the one instructor that doesn't hate my guts and doesn't wish me a painful death today about the bullying. She said she'd talk to the bullies about it, and she did. But except instead of the bullying stopping, they beat me up again today and forced Margaret (that's the nice camp director's name) to help. She threw a giant jug of orange juice at me, and the juice entered the cuts in my skin (you know, from when they bashed me) and it stang so much.
Sorry, if there this letter is a little wet, it's because I'm here in my cabin crying my eyes out, which I'm also getting teased for.
And, oh my God, the chocolate? Thank you SOOO much, it was a saviour. I'm craving more though, which is probably a sign that I shouldn't have eaten the whole block in four minutes.
And M 'n M's? Jonny!! You shouldn't have told me. You know they're my favourite.
Aww. Tooth decay? You'd have to be the cutest piece of tooth decay in the world.
And yeah, I only have five now. I dropped a few photos in a pile of dog shit on the way to choir practice. I didn't even attempt to rescue them. But hopefully that'll be enough.
And the World Spelling Cup is the best thing since sliced bread, how could people not watch it? And House. House is awesome.
Did your little bro have a stinkbomb? Did you plant it in Corey's locker. DID HE CRAWL INTO A HOLE AND CRY HIS EYES OUT AND THEN DIE??
Who's your relief teacher? Mrs McEwan? She sucks.
ULTIMATE ROBOT FIGHTING LLAMAS!! CHOCOLATE!! Honestly, Jonny, I'm impressed. I can't wait. It sounds great. Let's set a date. And my poems have gotten worse and worse of late.
Your bestest friend in the whole wide world.
Sincerely,
Warm regards,
Christopher Anthony John Martin.
(See, I'm a professional now, Jonny!!)
Chapter 6
Jonny?
Why haven't you replied to me yet? Is it something I said?? If so, I'm really sorry.
Anyway, Simone ditched me yesterday to hang with the 'cool kids'. I was shocked!!
In other news... Someone told me today I had a cool shirt! I was wearing my Space Invaders one and they said it was awesome. No, actually they said it was cool, but still! I'm not sure if they were being sarcastic or not, though...I'm not too good at detecting it.
Oh, and I got forced to eat a pickle that had been on the ground today. Ugh. Firstly, I can't eat pickles; I'm allergic. And secondly, it had been on the ground. I mean, there could've been ants or spiders or snails or all of them on there just before the pickle got dropped.
I'm well and truly fed up of these bullies.
My bald spot of hair has kind of grown back. It's shorter than the rest of my luscious locks (kidding!) but it still covers the bald patch.
And I've just provided you with a heap of information you really didn't need to know, but please, reply ASAP.
Please?
I love you, my dearest Jonny,
With all my heart,
Shall we never part,
Look, it's a llama eating a grocery cart!!
Yay!!
Another crappy poem. Stop paying attention to these, please. They're just intolerable.
Love,
Chris xxx
Chapter 7
Jonny,
Please send me anything, a crappy drawing of a stick figure (I take that back; stick figures rock!), anything, please!
Just so I know you're still alive. It sucks we can't have cell phones at this camp.
Please, please, please, please. I can go on and on if I have to.
I've been up all night worrying about you. I asked Margaret if I could use her mobile, but she refused and said it wasn't fair.
I hope you're okay,
Chris.
(P.S. Please reply!!)
(P.P.S. Just had to remind you so you won't forget. But still, please reply!!)
Chapter 8
Chris,
We thank you for being so kind and lovely to our dear Jonny. He's so happy since he started dating you. It was great to wake up each morning and see him with a spring in his step.
But, it is with much regret we must tell you our darling boy passed away eight days ago.
A student at your high school, Corey Hill, shot our dear Jonny. He did this because Jonny apparently planted a stinkbomb in Corey's locker.
After going on a binge of drugs and alcohol, Corey told his mother he was going for a drive in his sedan. He instead went down to the public library where Jonny was studying for his project on King Henry VIII, and removed a rifle from his knapsack and went on a wild shooting spree.
Corey killed eight other children who had gotten in his way before he finally reached our sweetheart. He shot our darling boy at point blank. The bullet went straight through Jonny's head. It killed him instantly.
Corey is currently in jail, waiting for his hearing.
We have decided to wait until you return from camp to hold Jonny's funeral. We think it is the best thing to do, since you two were so close.
We can't thank you enough for making Jonny so happy. He loves you. He's definitely looking down on you.
Jonny will always be there, remember that.
Mr. and Mrs Buckland.
Chapter 9
Jonny, the love of my life,
I am so sorry, Jonny. I am so, so sorry.
I never meant for this to happen. I just thought that Corey would move seats. I never once thought he would kill you.
I was so...dumb... How could I not realise that? It's all my fault.
Jonny, I love you.
It seems so unreal. I'll never be able to touch you again; I'll never be able to kiss you again, in this dimension anyway. Jonny, I need you so much!
So, I came up with an idea about an hour ago.
I've got the knife here, a few pictures of you and I, some rope - just in case I chicken out of stabbing myself, because you know that's what probably will happen. You know I can't stand blood.
And you know I love you, right?
I love you with all my heart, Jonny.
So, that's it, I guess.
I'll see you soon, Jonny. I can't wait.
Love,
Chris xxx
And so it concludes...
Howdy Jonny,
I miss you so much!
Camp is terrible.
There's this gang of bullies. Their names are George, Steve and Nate, and there's another one, I think, but he just wanders around with them.
I got my head flushed in the toilet. Twice. I got my photos of you flushed down the toilet, as well. (The toilet trick. Never seems to get old, does it?) I got my sunglasses stolen (you know, those awesome green ones). I've recieved so many wedgies I've stopped counting.
All I need is you and now I can't even look at you in photographs! How will I last? I've got another three weeks here. I need you to hug me, Jonny. I need you to say you love me.
Oh, and they cut off a huge lock of my hair. We're not allowed to use clippers or razors here so now I've got a giant bald spot and I've almost grown a beard!
What's that? The fashion police? COMING TO ARREST ME ON MULTIPLE COUNTS OF UNFABULOUSNESS?!
I know, I'm being a bit of a drama queen, but still... If this happened to you you'd be freaking out as well.
And I'm in two of the camp directors bad books' now, after I walked in on them having a bit too much fun after choir practice, if you know where I'm going with this...
I don't even know why my parents sent me here. If this is a band camp, then why are the instructors confiscating my guitar for no reason at all?
At least I've still got a pad of paper and a pen, I can still write songs, at least.
Speaking of which, I've enclosed a song I wrote for you. I hope you enjoy it.
In your reply to this letter, can you please tell me who won the cup? Thanks. And also, what're the latest happenings on House?
How have you been, also? I almost forgot to ask. I guess I was too busy ranting on to you about the bullies...
On a last note, can you please save me from this hellhole? It would be much appreciated.
Missing you so much words can't describe,
Chris xxx
Chapter 2
Hi Chris,
I LOVE YOU!!
Guess what? I fell down while playing baseball at school, and then some idiot dropped a metal baseball bat on my leg while I was still on the ground. I know! Now I have a broken leg, and its hard to move, but my parents are still making me go to school!!
Is the bullying really that bad, Chris, or are you exaggerating a bit?
If it really is that terrible then perhaps you should consider telling one of the instructors who doesn't hate you. It's not going to go away on its own, Chrissy.
Anyway, I've been okay, I guess. Missing you a lot.
Oh, I'm eating a chocolate bar as I write this. It makes me think of you.
We had to stage a mini musical in drama today and I had the best idea. I wanted to perform Why Do Alpacas Look Like Llamas?: A Christoper Martin and Jonathan Buckland Musical. That would've been so cool! But I got stuck with Randal, so we had to perform Randal the Vandal: The Musical. It was crap!
Don't worry about your hair, Chris. It'll grow back and I'm sure you still look hot.
Thank you for the song. It was lovely. And I've enclosed some photos of myself in here, just so you can see me.
And I have a giant project to do on King Henry VIII, so I haven't had any time to watch House or the cup. I'll ask someone tomorrow who won.
Camp is so far away from my house, though, so I guess I can't save you. That makes me sad. Anyway, when you come back, my arms will be wide open.
And Corey stole our spot in the cafeteria. I know! We have to take revenge on him when you get back.
I can't wait to see you.
And try not to walk in on any more camp directors. It would only give the bullies another reason to, well, bully you.
Love, Jonny.
(P.S. My parents say hi to you.)
Chapter 3
Jonny! Jonny! Jonny!
Guess what? You'll never believe it... I made a friend!
It's so cool. Her name is Simone. She's a selective mute, but that's okay, we communicate in writing. Isn't that awesome?
But I thought that having a friend around me all the time would make the bullies go away, but now they're pickiing on me even more!! I haven't told the instructors yet but I might need to. Yesterday they stole my clothes and towel while I was in the shower.
Speaking of which, I know you told me not to walk in on any more camp directors, but I kind of did. It's not what you think, though. The instructor is meant to be vegetarian but I saw her eating a hot dog. She swore me to secrecy and blackmailed me. She said that if I tell anyone she eats meat, then she'll spread the photos of you and me kissing around.
Oh, and four of the photos you sent me got stolen. I've only got eight left now.
I'm definitely over this camp... They won't let me eat chocolate. I know, right! I used to be up all night because I ate too much chocolate, but now I'm an insomniac because I don't eat any.
And, by the way, what type of chocolate were you eating before?
Do you think you could send me some? Just a small Kit-Kat or Twix bar. Anything. I need a fix!!!
Randal the Vandal? Pssh. That would be crap. When I get back we'll have to make Why Do Alpacas Look Like Llamas?: A Christopher Martin and Jonathan Buckland Musical and perform it to my parents.
King Henry VII? Does everyone in class have to do a project on him or did you just choose it?
That makes me feel so much better. I can't wait to come back home and give you a hug.
And plant a bomb in Corey's locker or something. A stink bomb!! We can't just sit merely and let him steal our spot.
How is your leg, by the way? I almost forgot to ask. I was rambling again, I guess... I wish I was there to kiss it better.
You don't know how lovely you are,
I want to run away very, very far,
So you can hold me in your arms
And we'll escape the drama.
Together, we'll watch Ultimate Robot Fighting Llamas.
Love Chrissyboo xxx
(P.S. Remember the chocolate!!)
(P.P.S. That little poem was really terrible. Forget you saw it. It never existed, okay?)
(P.P.P.S. Actually make a mental note of Ultimate Robot Fighting Llamas. I want to watch that someday. Because you know if I made a mental note, I'd lose it somewhere.)
Chapter 4
Hi Chris,
What poem? I never saw any poem.
I'm so glad you've made a friend. Is she from here? Wait, let me rephrase: Does she live in the same town as us? Does she go to our school?
Definitely tell the instructors. You've only got what, two weeks to go? Make sure you have fun.
You'll last with eight photos, right? Tell me if any more get stolen, because I'll send more, then.
I've enclosed a small block of chocolate. Sorry, it was all I could find. And make sure no one else sees you eating it, because, think about it, you'd probably get the block stolen.
I was eating some M 'n M's when I wrote that last letter, by the way.
Trust me, Chris, it was really crap. You wouldn't have wanted to see that. I had to be tooth decay for some reason even though there was nothing related to teeth in the musical. It was just Randal running around like an idiot and me running around like an idiotic piece of tooth decay!!
And, we were given an instruction to choose a significant historical figure and do a project about them. I just chose Henry VII because, well, no reason actually.
Oh, and it turns out nobody at school watched the World Spelling Cup. And nobody watched House, either. Sorry.
If I can find one, I'll plant a stinkbomb in Corey's locker tomorrow. I'll ask my little brother if he has one. I mean, come on, what nine year old boy doesn't have a stinkbomb?
Chrissy, you know I'd love nothing more than for you to kiss my leg better. Oh, I miss you. Anyway, it's okay, I guess. It still hurts, though, and while I was working on my history project (you know, on King Henry VIII) someone graffitied on my cast. I don't know how I didn't notice them drawing on it, but anyway... They wrote 'Jonny loves Chris' on it, which is actually a good thing!!
Guess what? Ryan flipped out in class yesterday and threw a chair at Mrs Gibson. She ended up going to hospital. You've been missing so much (not!)
And I'll throw a coming home party for you, and we'll watch Ultimate Robot Fighting Llamas and eat lots of chocolate.
Love you. Don't get into any trouble, please,
Jonny.
Chapter 5
Dear Mr. Jonathan Mark Buckland,
I have something I need to tell you... I'm pregnant...
Just kidding. I was just trying to start this letter of dramatically, you know, like they do on those crappy soap operas.
Anyway, moving on...
I don't know where Simone lives, actually. Now that the weather's really hot she can't grip onto her pencil. Because she sweats so much it just slides out of her hand, so we haven't been able to communicate. I still hang with her, though.
I told the one instructor that doesn't hate my guts and doesn't wish me a painful death today about the bullying. She said she'd talk to the bullies about it, and she did. But except instead of the bullying stopping, they beat me up again today and forced Margaret (that's the nice camp director's name) to help. She threw a giant jug of orange juice at me, and the juice entered the cuts in my skin (you know, from when they bashed me) and it stang so much.
Sorry, if there this letter is a little wet, it's because I'm here in my cabin crying my eyes out, which I'm also getting teased for.
And, oh my God, the chocolate? Thank you SOOO much, it was a saviour. I'm craving more though, which is probably a sign that I shouldn't have eaten the whole block in four minutes.
And M 'n M's? Jonny!! You shouldn't have told me. You know they're my favourite.
Aww. Tooth decay? You'd have to be the cutest piece of tooth decay in the world.
And yeah, I only have five now. I dropped a few photos in a pile of dog shit on the way to choir practice. I didn't even attempt to rescue them. But hopefully that'll be enough.
And the World Spelling Cup is the best thing since sliced bread, how could people not watch it? And House. House is awesome.
Did your little bro have a stinkbomb? Did you plant it in Corey's locker. DID HE CRAWL INTO A HOLE AND CRY HIS EYES OUT AND THEN DIE??
Who's your relief teacher? Mrs McEwan? She sucks.
ULTIMATE ROBOT FIGHTING LLAMAS!! CHOCOLATE!! Honestly, Jonny, I'm impressed. I can't wait. It sounds great. Let's set a date. And my poems have gotten worse and worse of late.
Your bestest friend in the whole wide world.
Sincerely,
Warm regards,
Christopher Anthony John Martin.
(See, I'm a professional now, Jonny!!)
Chapter 6
Jonny?
Why haven't you replied to me yet? Is it something I said?? If so, I'm really sorry.
Anyway, Simone ditched me yesterday to hang with the 'cool kids'. I was shocked!!
In other news... Someone told me today I had a cool shirt! I was wearing my Space Invaders one and they said it was awesome. No, actually they said it was cool, but still! I'm not sure if they were being sarcastic or not, though...I'm not too good at detecting it.
Oh, and I got forced to eat a pickle that had been on the ground today. Ugh. Firstly, I can't eat pickles; I'm allergic. And secondly, it had been on the ground. I mean, there could've been ants or spiders or snails or all of them on there just before the pickle got dropped.
I'm well and truly fed up of these bullies.
My bald spot of hair has kind of grown back. It's shorter than the rest of my luscious locks (kidding!) but it still covers the bald patch.
And I've just provided you with a heap of information you really didn't need to know, but please, reply ASAP.
Please?
I love you, my dearest Jonny,
With all my heart,
Shall we never part,
Look, it's a llama eating a grocery cart!!
Yay!!
Another crappy poem. Stop paying attention to these, please. They're just intolerable.
Love,
Chris xxx
Chapter 7
Jonny,
Please send me anything, a crappy drawing of a stick figure (I take that back; stick figures rock!), anything, please!
Just so I know you're still alive. It sucks we can't have cell phones at this camp.
Please, please, please, please. I can go on and on if I have to.
I've been up all night worrying about you. I asked Margaret if I could use her mobile, but she refused and said it wasn't fair.
I hope you're okay,
Chris.
(P.S. Please reply!!)
(P.P.S. Just had to remind you so you won't forget. But still, please reply!!)
Chapter 8
Chris,
We thank you for being so kind and lovely to our dear Jonny. He's so happy since he started dating you. It was great to wake up each morning and see him with a spring in his step.
But, it is with much regret we must tell you our darling boy passed away eight days ago.
A student at your high school, Corey Hill, shot our dear Jonny. He did this because Jonny apparently planted a stinkbomb in Corey's locker.
After going on a binge of drugs and alcohol, Corey told his mother he was going for a drive in his sedan. He instead went down to the public library where Jonny was studying for his project on King Henry VIII, and removed a rifle from his knapsack and went on a wild shooting spree.
Corey killed eight other children who had gotten in his way before he finally reached our sweetheart. He shot our darling boy at point blank. The bullet went straight through Jonny's head. It killed him instantly.
Corey is currently in jail, waiting for his hearing.
We have decided to wait until you return from camp to hold Jonny's funeral. We think it is the best thing to do, since you two were so close.
We can't thank you enough for making Jonny so happy. He loves you. He's definitely looking down on you.
Jonny will always be there, remember that.
Mr. and Mrs Buckland.
Chapter 9
Jonny, the love of my life,
I am so sorry, Jonny. I am so, so sorry.
I never meant for this to happen. I just thought that Corey would move seats. I never once thought he would kill you.
I was so...dumb... How could I not realise that? It's all my fault.
Jonny, I love you.
It seems so unreal. I'll never be able to touch you again; I'll never be able to kiss you again, in this dimension anyway. Jonny, I need you so much!
So, I came up with an idea about an hour ago.
I've got the knife here, a few pictures of you and I, some rope - just in case I chicken out of stabbing myself, because you know that's what probably will happen. You know I can't stand blood.
And you know I love you, right?
I love you with all my heart, Jonny.
So, that's it, I guess.
I'll see you soon, Jonny. I can't wait.
Love,
Chris xxx
And so it concludes...
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