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      + doomed to obscurity + special number three + august 10th, 1996 +

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 "preface"
 by - mogel

        we're completely random.  there's nothing that you can point to.
 there's no laws & no logic - there's nothing but chaos.  we live in extremes
 & insanity.  that's it.

        & i'm a liar.

        i feel a bit pretentious introducing this amazing piece of writing,
 the first dto-published novel, _dead star_.  ideally, we'll have more of
 this to come in future dto special issues.

        but, in actuality, this isn't the first novel eerie has ever written.
 his first novel, _l'hecatombe des anges ("hecatomb of angels")_ was finished
 in the summer of 1994.  dave calls this his "first display of teen-angst."
 next, in the same year, _la theorie du chaos ("the chaos theory")_ was 
 completed.  this novel is chronicled & translated chapter-by-chapter each
 month in every issue of dto.  eerie's third novel, _nous, les suicidaires 
 ("we, the suicidal")_ was written in the summer of 1995 - dave's sarcastic
 portrayal of a somewhat disillusioned generation of teens.  still
 unfinished, _black lipstick_ is eerie's surreal sci-fi story.  you can find
 two chapters of this novel in dto issue #10, titled "shine six/eight & the 
 last musty smells".

        well, i'll stop blabbering about what eerie's done.

  !!!                   this text-file is shareware.                     !!!
  !!!  if you like this, send the author money, cds, food - *ANYTHING*!  !!!

        if you're interested in finding out more about eerie's writing, send
 any & all comments to doomed@voicenet.com.

        now, on with the goods!

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 "dead star"
 by - eerie

        to aime dontigny.

        "i feel okay,
	 i feel okay,
	 i feel okay,
	 i feel okay,
	 you wanna know how i feel today?"     -  unwound, "pure pain sugar"

 ---

	1

        no matter what was going to happen, he wouldn't let it go.

        come on, it's his fuckin' destiny, after all.  & who are we to even
 think about screwing with his destiny?

	that's even though we all know destiny is fake, of course.

	'cause yeah, sure, there's all this cause to effect gibberish in 
 action.  it's there.  we can't get rid of it.  he being no more powerful 
 than anyone else makes him no exception.  he's stuck with the causes.  stuck
 in pure chaos.

	many times he thought:  "i'm so fuckin' alone."  that was true.  he
 couldn't be closer to the truth, actually.  by feeding his conscience with
 that sole statement, he was giving himself the awareness of his own nature.
 this, even if he hadn't the cleverness to understand it.  yet.

        he also possessed the essence of drama.  he was blessed with the
 purity of murder.  the cause made him become a criminal.  he was what he
 was, no less, no more, as transparent as transparent could be.

        maybe that's what led him to his loss - his lack of self-deformation.
 the fact that he had nothing to exaggerate.  the only notion he had the
 knowledge of, that was related to the process of altering an outsider's view
 of him, was his capacity to blur himself.  which, of course, didn't help all
 that much.

	the state of panic, which had its hold on him on a regular basis, was
 always striking in a cold, telegraphical fashion, except maybe for a couple
 times when he simply couldn't control it.  violence sometimes overcame his
 will.  it was the only way to escape without drowning into insanity.

        .. or wasn't he already insane?  as panic engulfed his mind so many 
 times, he could only wonder.  'cause hey, maybe after all it's the insanity
 that gets lost into himself.  just like so many lacks, so many losses, so 
 many holes would have left that many square miles of dead areas where 
 unknown residues of bad trips can sleep, ready to be awaken by the tiniest 
 spark of blatant panic lights - just like hazard spots.

	but since those areas were dead, they wouldn't hurt.  they would just
 become significative.  they would just get a name.  they would just provoke
 unwanted souvenirs.  they would just recall otherwise long since faded 
 memories.  he's lost everything about his past already.  all he has left is
 the blurring veil.  & maybe, he thought, this one's fading as well.

	& now he was about to do something terrible, & no one could ever
 understand it because no one was aware of the whole cause to effect process.  
 people tend to think that you can set your life your own way.  they tend to 
 believe that if you're doing wrong, it's your fault.  they might be right, 
 but even they couldn't have any power over their destiny even if they wanted
 to.  they don't have the knowledge.  they don't have the patience.

        he has spent the whole afternoon trying to write the god damn letter.
 for some reason he had to explain the unexplainable.  of course it was 
 impossible.  maybe he even knew it.  cause to effect.  had he sent it, he
 could have hoped for something that was also impossible.  that literally
 fucked him up.  so instead, he did it.  he went past that limit he thought
 he would never get past.

        & when, on the day after, he realized the whole mess he was into now,
 he was way beyond rationality.  the cops were gonna get his ass if he didn't
 move, quick.  like, now.  he knew he had only one place to go.  the lack of
 choice appeared as so obvious that the panic increased again, fulfilling
 all the dead areas of his mind.  as usual.

 ---

	2

	that specific morning, the outside weather was as bold as a drawing 
 drawn from an unsharpened pencil.

        the images were bigger than children's images.  they were strong,
 wide & scraped.  the whole city appeared as vague yet defined shapes, as if
 water covered it.  its staticness was moving, swirling, crawling.  he had
 no fear at the moment, being way too busy with the contemplative state he's
 almost consciously put himself in.

	there was too much caffeine & other types of speeders in his blood
 anyway.  everytime he'd check his watch he'd notice how much his hand 
 would shake.  that reminded him of how frail his body was.  it was way less
 strong than average joe's & to some extent it was enough to scare him.  
 actually, everything that reminded him of what he was, scared the shit outta
 him.  it came to a point where he was scared of being scared.  

        but still he would keep on falling into nothingness, for no apparent 
 reason.

	after "i'm so fuckin' alone" often came "i'm tired."

        he walked a couple blocks, not even thinking of hiding.  there was no
 need to hide.  admiring the highness of the cold buildings surrounding all
 of him was way too important for now.  & since it was so ephemeral, there
 was no way of getting back to it "later".

	as if there was a future anyway - that's bullshit for dreamers.

	as if there was a need to save for later use.  he sure wasn't dumb.  
 he knew the basics of immediateness & temporal destruction.  he had learned
 many things from the day he grew up for real & killed the kid he was.  one
 of them was to never take anything as granted.  & that philosophy
 inconsistently morphing his mind, he never had any concrete gain, never 
 would.

	a sudden feeling of rapture filled him for a few seconds & it was so 
 terrible it almost made him cry.

 ---

	3

	-  alright, so what's up man?

        the fact that rory would show up at his place at 8 in the morning
 didn't seem to affect eric too much.  maybe he was used to it.  maybe he
 didn't mind being awaken that early.  or maybe didn't he even sleep last
 night.  who knows.  who cares.  rory wouldn't even ask why.

	-  i'm fucked up.

	-  why so?

	-  i dunno.  weird shit.

	-  want some coffee?

	-  sure.

	-  well, go make some.

	the place was way too hot, as usual.  there was a small fan in the 
 corner of the room & that was all.  eric didn't seem to care about the heat.

        -  so what exactly did fuck you up?

        rory drank some coffee, slowly.  there was no point in increasing his 
 body's inner temperature.  well, not all of a sudden, like that.

        -  you don't wanna know.

        -  well, if you say so ..

	why did he come here, anyway?  he had no clue.  he knew eric would
 give him nothing near a warm smile or a comprehensive ear.  there was
 probably nowhere else to go.  he namechecked all the other places where he 
 could have went & it seemed to him that none of them would have provided
 what he required.

	of course he didn't know what exactly was his need.  the definition 
 of the word "need" itself was far away from the exact unnamed, abstract
 concept he'd be referring to.  it was beyond the limitations related to the 
 human ability to give names.

	the radio was turned on.  some guy talking about stuff.  morning shit 
 he didn't care about.  when the guy stopped talking, eric turned it off, 
 because he didn't want to hear the music.

	-  why don'tcha leave it on?

	-  i don't care about music.

	-  how come?

	-  you gotta be weak to listen to music.  it's a fuckin' crutch.

	rory categorized the thought as "bizarre" & drank some more coffee.
 maybe eric has evolved more than anyone else.  it was possible.  if
 evolution shows, he thought, then he is way further than us in his way to
 perfection - but then again what's the point in going that far if it makes
 you distant, thus not perfect?

 ---

	4

	-  alright, please don't tell anyone that i'm here.

	the phone rang for the second time.

	-  what have you done anyway?

	-  i'll tell you later.  go answer.

	ring.

	-  no way, what is it?

	-  i won't -

	ring.

	-  .. tell you - go answer the fuckin' phone!

	ring.

	-  i don't care about answering.  answer yourself -
	
	ring.

	-  if you want.

	-  oh crap, eric, what the hell -

	answer.
	
	-  hello?  oh yeah - sure!  you what?  hell, sure!  where else!  of 
 course, he's here.  yeah, yeah!  ha ha ha ha!  you really believe that?  ha 
 ha ha.  yeah, i was kidding.  i mean - why in hell would he be here?  we
 barely know each other.  yeah!  but, hey - i gotta jet now.  call me 
 whenever.  bye-bye.

	hang up.

	-  holy fuckin' crap, you could've been a little more convincing.

	-  relax, won't you, it's not even you she was looking for.

 ---

	5

        -  the police are after me, okay?

	-  the police?  what the hell have you done, for christsake?

	-  i've - nothing.  it's just -

	-  i hate half-answers.  you gotta answer for good now!

	-  god, you can be a prick sometimes.

        -  ro, when you start tellin' me somethin', you gotta tell it all.  i
 hate it when your ramblings lead to nowhere.

	-  i _might_ explain later, but for now it's no, thanks.

        -  & what do you need from me, exactly?

        -  some protection, s'all.  nothing big.  just to be able to stay at
 one place 'till i find a way to get outta this shit.  i can pay & stuff.

	-  how in hell do you want me to help you if you don't even tell me 
 what's goin' on?

	-  oh, shut up.

	silence.

	-  who was the girl anyway?

	-  what girl?

	-  the one you talked on the phone with.

	-  oh, her.

	-  yeah, her.

	silence.

	-  don't fuck with me like that, eric.

	-  i don't fuck with people, ro.  i only set order.

	then he went to the kitchen get himself another cup of coffee.  rory
 was still wondering why in hell he came here in the first place.  no
 rational reasons, for sure.  but still, where else could he ever go?

	eric had a girlfriend, a definite art-school type of girl who wore
 long purple dresses & had her green eyes framed with small elliptic glasses.  
 she was a painter, & some of her paintings were hanging on the walls.

	the one in the kitchen, between the door & the freezer, was all dark 
 green, except for a small area covered with light grey & a children drawing 
 of a man's genitalia.  it was obscene, but it wouldn't affect rory, who only 
 thought it might be a little misplaced.

	-  i use this one to test people.

	-  uh?

	-  like, when they're disgusted, you can tell there's a problem.

	-  um, maybe.

	-  & when they openly like it, it can be a problem too.

	-  & the point is .. ?

	-  i dig people like you who have no opinion on this work.  it shows 
 how bulletproof you are.

	one of the painting of the living room was mostly red blood paint, 
 splattered over various pictures of barbie she'd cut in catalogues, with a 
 paper sticked on it saying:  
 
			  HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR MEAT
	
	then, in a similar fashion, the painting on the right was "RAPE ME 
 WHENEVER BABY" over a perfect representation of superman.  to rory, it 
 seemed that from those warhol-esque paintings, one could tell that this
 artsy weak-looking chick was hiding the roots of an authentical riot grrl.

	-  bulletproof?

	-  people like you - & me - subscribe to the "care less" philosophy.  
 which gives you some invulnerability against daily grind.  guaranteed.  no 
 more hassle!

	-  sometimes i care.

	-  yeah, & when you do, you regret it.

	-  like what?

	-  like the day you became stupid & fell in love with may.

	-  i don't regret it!

	-  yeah, right.  but you will, soon.  or else, you're eternally
 stupid.

	the fourth painting was over the tv set.  it was of a nude woman
 lying on a couch, smoking a cigarette, holding an ashtray over her pube.
 this definitely was the "art-school" side of her.  disturbing, yet snobby.
 obscene, yet elegant.  she would probably make male teachers fall in love
 with her, when female teachers would maybe consider the work as too violent
 for a normal girl to create.  

        just by seeing their paintings, you could see why eric loved this 
 girl.

	-  what's your girlfriend's name, again?

	-  "girlfriend"?

        -  well, you have a girlfriend, dontcha?

	-  i have no "girlfriend".

	-  you're not with her anymore?

	-  with who?

	-  that girl - who did all those paintings.  isn't she your girl?

	-  she's not _mine_, ro.  she's _hers_.

	-  holy fuckin' crap, eric, can't you just tell me her name?

	-  her name's nadia.

	-  there!  god, was that so hard?

	-  she's not my "girlfriend".  i like to point that out.

        -  okay.  what about "the girl you fuck with"?

	-  that's actually better.

        he didn't actually live with nadia;  yet she didn't have a home, so
 she'd sleep at his place.  the biggest painting was in his room & showed a
 skinny black cross, drawn with much imprecision, thus dividing a white
 rectangular area in four unequal parts with noisy edges.  it didn't even
 have any kind of signature, maybe because of the sacred image the cross
 bore.

        -  she's drawing a buddha.  same size.  it'll be on the opposite
 wall.  this way we'll have god over our heads & our eyes will watch the
 enlightened one.

	-  why god over your head?

	-  because you never know, i guess.  & because the cross means so 
 much more than just jesus & shit anyway.  whatever.  it's mostly her stuff.
 i'm not super much into it, but i like that.

	-  i figured.

        -  no seriously.  i hate every living form of art, but this is so
 trashy, it gives me a smile.  & you wouldn't imagine how much i value
 anything that makes me happy.

	-  & what does she think of that?

	-  what, "that"?

	-  the fact that you don't care about art.

        -  i dunno, i guess she thinks it's alright.  i mean, i can have
 whatever opinion i want on that matter.  it's not like she's gonna sue me
 or anything.

	-  yeah, guess so.

	-  we have stupid arguments over any fucking topic.  but still, we
 don't care.  it's fine with us.  we're adults.

	-  wish i was ..

	-  you can be one anytime you want.  just let may alone for a time.
 you need it.  & i'm sure she won't mind all that much.

        -  i don't care _that much_ about may.

	-  sure, that's what they all say.  however, despite the fact that
 you don't care "that much" about her & that she doesn't care that much about
 you either, you should let her go.

        a smaller painting was on the side of the window.  it was an
 excessively precise representation of a crowd.  & a dense one, too.  she
 probably worked for months just for the details.  the upper part was drawn
 over a bright blue background, whereas the lower part was grass green.

 ---

	6

	-  what do you think of destiny?  rory asked.

        -  uh, what?  destiny?  fuck, man, destiny sucks.  who cares about it
 nowadays?  destiny is for freaks!

	-  yeah, but still.  it is there.

	-  but why do you care?

	-  because i do.  hey, i'll take another cup of coffee if you don't
 mind.  do you mind?

	-  why would i?

	-  i should have figured.

 ---

	7

        committing a crime is something rory had never done before that day.
 well, maybe little thievery or some other minor shit, like making illegal
 copies of cd's & computer games.  those were no crimes anyway.  sometimes
 honesty was just an annoying formality you could ignore because no one would
 give a flying fuck.

        but it happened, & as he expected, the thrill wouldn't last too long.
 the guilt would come slightly after & leave a sour feeling in his brain.
 then he would wonder how come he still did it even thought he knew for a
 fact that in reality nothing would be different than what he expected.  he
 had been weak, but then again, who isn't?  he really hated having to think
 about that.  especially now.

	"may this stop soon", he wished, as he realized he had no more
 marijuana on him.

	-  eric.  have any weed?

	-  got hasch.

	-  no way.  i thought you hated that.

	-  still do.  but this is not exactly "mine".

	-  nadia's?

        -  one of her friends.  she went here that other day & forgot it.
 she never asked it back, so i figure she even forgot she had it.  she's
 dumb, anyway.

	-  um, wanna smoke?

	-  uh, okay, but you owe me.

	-  i can pay you back, eric.

	-  i don't care.  keep it.  i got it for free anyway.

        he turned on the oven & inserted two knives into the element so they
 could be hot enough to get the drug to stick on them.  he was using this
 method for "efficiency".  rory preferred joints, but he didn't mind using
 the knives, even though it would make him cough everytime.

	like now.

	-  this one is rough, man.

	-  i hear there's pcp in it.

	-  no way?

	-  haven't tried it.  can't tell.

	-  motherfucker, you could have told me before i actually breathe
 that shit in.

	-  i thought a braincell killer would help you cool down.  you need
 it.  is there any left?

	-  hell yeah.  i'm not gonna take more of this crap!

	-  y'know, maybe that's not pcp.  maybe that's lsd.  maybe that's 
 windex.  maybe that's horse shit.  it's a drug, dammit, not a candy.  it's
 meant to give relief by killing what goes wrong.  in this case, it's the
 brain you gotta screw.

	-  man oh man - fuck, i guess, maybe you're right, after all.

	-  lemme take some.

	-  there.  serve yourself - fucker.

	-  no problem, you'll thank me later.

	cannabis, pcp, lsd, windex, horse shit - whatever it was, it crossed
 his body like an express train & he felt on a chair, stoned as hell.  eric
 didn't seem all that affected, for he was used to such intruders.

 ---

	8

        what is the actual story that happened?  rory wondered.  then he
 thought, this question means nothing - it's just barely nice-looking.

	he had an aversion against flamboyant stuff.  the super bold, ultra
 hyped bull, he simply couldn't care about it.  he never gave half a shit
 about superficiality, & he would see no reason to start now.

	-  ro?

	-  uh ..

	-  not too much into blabbering type stuff, uh?

	-  uh-huh ..

	-  you're just not used to it.

	-  shut up, rory mumbled.

	-  so what happened, man?

	-  what what?

	-  what exactly happened last night?

	-  i told you -

	-  i know.  but i'd be glad if you stopped considering me as 
 dangerous.  it's not like i'm gonna betray you.

	-  oh, man ..

	-  it has to do with may, right?

	silence of resignation.

	-  what do you think?

	-  i dunno, man, i try to help, that's all ..

	-  holy crap.  you win.  i totally dig may.  there's nothing else 
 that counts in my fucking life.  was it _that_ hard to figure that one out?

	-  heh.  i must admit that, no.

	-  like, why don'tcha turn on the tv?

	eric obeyed & turned on the set.  whatever was playing, it only
 served as a platform over which rory made his thoughts fly.  parts of his
 body started ticking more, & he felt like he was slowly sticking to the
 sofa.  the rest of the room suddenly appeared as filled with coloured spots.
 the noises in his head were electrically distorted, as if they were passing
 through an old moog keyboard.  & of course, there was the same taste in his
 mouth that he experienced months ago, the taste of synthetics & 
 pharmaceutics that characterize the stuff they sometimes add into hemp.

        some time before, he had this argument with may:  on a strictly 
 evolutive level, should one care about existence's generalities or should he
 concentrate on its specificity?  at first, both seemed of equal importance
 to him, as he remembered that, despite the obvious need for difference a 
 civilization had in order to make a mark into history, a high degree of 
 evolution can be reached in following the huxleyian pattern he'd read in "a 
 brave new world" where a nation of unwilling clones live happily, in total 
 peaceful conformity.

	but then, he concluded, history would get to a period of stagnation,
 & as he always argued, who says stagnation, says regression.  besides, 
 history shows that only highly evolutive civilizations ever had the power to
 emerge from the scheme of things & dominate the rest of the planet.  plus,
 he knew for a fact that a civilization means nothing without many foreigners
 in it.  in the first hundredths of years of the christian era, the arabs
 reached a level of science never seen before, mostly by bearing a welcoming
 attitude towards strangers.

        though, she wouldn't share this view of things.  she was one to give
 up any hope of a better world.  she was one to have no trust in human
 nature.  she was one to hate every single human being.

        why did he have any hope anyway?  no, wait.  this wasn't "hope".
 this was reality.  everything that mattered in his world was reality.

        "we're all gonna die."  the worse cliche of all times, & she repeated
 it often enough to convince him that to her it wasn't just enormous sarcasm.
 anyway, he figured, any argument he'd have with her would be a source of 
 infinite frustration.  he knew that oh too well.

        death.  my god.

        he wished he could die so often, though, he wasn't all that innocent.

        how could death taste like?  he asked himself.  a smiling may
 appeared & gave the most delicious answer.  "death tastes like a flower."  
 it was so sweet, it had to be true.

        her lips came close to his, & her entire naked body clung to him.  a
 flower, she repeated.  we're all going to taste flowers, sugar, milk, as
 soon as we are out of this hellhole.

        get out, he muttered out of pain.

	-  eric?

	-  uh?

        -  what the hell is on tv?

	-  that's a tape.

	-  this is fuckin' porn!

        -  um, yeah, i guess so.  why?

        -  what the hell are you doing with that?

        -  well, to tell the truth, i think this is more interesting that the
 movies that come out nowadays.  this has a purpose, at least.  might be bad,
 but hell - it doesn't pretend to be of any artistic value.

	-  uh, sure.

        -  look at those people, ro.  they are openly having sex for no
 specific reason other than - we'll, there's nothing else to do, so let's do
 it!  well, at least, that's what the movie shows.  so you figure, what the
 hell, this is total science-fiction.  sex is never _like that_!  even bad
 sex can't be _that_ bad.

	-  okay.  yeah.

	-  this epitomizes patheticness.  well, maybe not as much as forrest
 gump.  but no one's having sex in forrest gump.

	the details.  definitely.  that's what really matters.

 ---

	9

        it was almost noon.  rory's days were, for the most part, pretty much
 beginning at that time.

	it was then he could wake up, having just missed part of today's 
 daylight time.  all right.  he never cared for light.  going outside was
 something he hated on daytime.  actually, to him it seemed that the level of 
 luminosity was constantly increasing as the years passed by, which was the 
 cause of much annoyance.

	he would then take a shower, dress up & eat.  not "breakfast".  eat.
 there was no reason to bother with eating cereal, toast, eggs or whatever.
 just anything would do.

	the cycle would then begin.

	that specific day, rory ate spaghetti - classic meal, there's always
 tons of it & it's actually edible, unlike ramen noodles.  he then moved to
 the room, turned on the computer, entered the word processor, & stared for
 a couple minutes at a blank page.  he went for something to drink - coffee -
 & came back, spent another couple minutes, doing nothing but thinking,
 wanting to get rid of the plastic blank screen.
 
	he had to write a letter.

        he knew approximately what to talk about, but he had no motivation in
 doing so.  "i love you."  holy fucking shit.  it's been so overdone, means
 so much crap, this, & all its derivatives, since every word that expresses
 love has been soiled to death.  then, thinking back, he realized that this
 particular point was what ruined everything between may & him.

        everytime he would say the l word, she would freak out.  she would 
 have sudden nightmares of guys who'd kill themselves if you refuse their
 love, because if you do, there's no more reasons for them to keep living,
 but they still love you, they'll love you eternally, so they're not even
 gonna blame it on you.  "it's not your fault, it's mine.  but believe me, i
 have _no other choice_."

        that gave rory nightmares, too, where he was the guy who'd kill
 himself because he had no other choice.  he actually became afraid of this
 happening to him.
 
	but he got used to it & at a point didn't even want to talk about it 
 or mention the fact, "by the way, i love you", because it would be too much 
 hassle for little to no result.  instead he touched her.  he had the chills 
 just thinking about the feeling of caressing her hair.  & her smell, too. 
 it appeared to him that very few other girls bear any _odors_.  hers was 
 delightful.  his consciousness was melting everytime he was with her.  
 maybe, "like a drug".  but then, that was a lame metaphor.

	the screen was still blank, of course.  rory had no idea of what to 
 put inside.  "girl, can't you understand that what goes wrong is the lack of
 concepts?  can't you dig that we seriously do not speak the same language - 
 at all?"  but then those sounded like retorts, & he wouldn't want to hurt 
 her in any way.  he did it too much already.

        okay, so did she.  but that's _so_ unimportant.

 ---
 
	10
	
        noon.

	been stoned that long.

	-  let's eat, eric suggested.

	-  sure.

	-  we can drink, too.

	-  uh, okay.

	-  go get beer, man.  there's some in the fridge.

	-  if i can get around getting up ..

	-  you will.  i have faith in you!

	-  um, yeah, shut up.

	rory went up, then slowly moved, once falling on a wall, to the
 kitchen, opened the fridge, took two cans of beer, & went back to the living 
 room.  eric was on the phone, calling some pizza place.

        -  you cool with pizza?

	rory nodded.  cool with anything.

	-  it's past noon.

	-  so i've seen.  

	-  that stuff was pretty heavy.

	-  so i think.  but you've slept.

        -  did i?

        -  yeah.  well, it's no surprise, since i doubt you had any sleep 
 last night - or did you?

        -  you're really clever.

	-  there.  have some beer.

	he thought that there was really no one who could understand his own
 personal language.  not even eric.  but eric's language, he could
 understand.  this language was so obvious yet so grand, you couldn't have a
 single doubt about his intents.  oddly enough, this particularity was giving
 him strength - no one could believe this guy would lie, because in the real
 facts, he wouldn't.

	rory had to lie, sometimes.  it wasn't such a big deal.  especially
 when it's the easiest way out & when it can spare you some useless hassle.

	some time passed.

	-  you wanna know what happened last night?

	-  uh, sure.

	-  alright.

	he hadn't even opened his bottle of beer yet.

	-  i went at her place.

        -  may?

        -  yeah.

	-  when?

	-  yesterday, about 10 pm.  i knew she was alone.

	-  that is, without boyfriend.

	-  yeah.  shut up.  so, i knocked, & she was there.  she told me to
 come in.  she said she was glad to see me.

	-  why?

	-  you prick.

	-  but seriously.  why was she glad to see you at that specific time?

	-  i guessed she missed me.  it can happen to anyone.

	-  sure.

	it was then that the pizza guy rang the doorbell & interrupted the
 conversation.

 ---

	11

	-  so, what's the rest of the crunchy details?

	-  not that crunchy.

	rory finally opened his bottle of beer.  he was glad he didn't have
 to get up to answer the pizza guy.

	-  well, still?

        -  it's ten fourty-five.

	-  oh, hold on.

	he _really_ wanted to know the story.  well, okay, rory said to
 himself.

	-  i killed her.

	-  oh really?

	-  yeah.

	-  here's the money.  keep the change.

	-  thank you.

	-  bye-bye.

	he closed the door.

	-  you did?

	-  yeah.

	-  using _what_?

	-  a gun.

	-  you have a gun?

	-  i had one.  bought it from some guy.

	-  who?

	-  you don't know him.

	-  holy shit.  this is weird.

        -  "weird"?

        -  yeah, sorta.  for lack of a better word.

	-  man, this is actually _painful_.

	-  it was meant to happen, i guess.

	-  it has nothing to do with what you see in the movies.

	-  you've always been easily impressed by tragedy, ro.  i have to
 admit that there certainly is something to get outta it, but -

	-  sure, man, sure.  & now, you know.  feel better yet?

	-  no.  not "better".

	-  i have no clue why i told you that.

	-  me neither, actually, but that's another story.

	-  huh?

	-  let's have pizza.  meal of tragedy.

	-  what do -

	-  some say pizza comes from greece.  some say it's from italy.  but
 no matter which of those, it had to come from a grand civilization, with a
 high level of science & knowledge.

	-  do you even _care_ about what i told you?

        -  sure.  actually, since you revealed me something of this
 importance, i'm gonna do alike & share a secret with you.  'member the call
 this morning?

	-  yeah.
 
	-  well, no matter who it was, that sure wasn't may!

	-  uh - what do you mean?

	-  tragedy, man.  our little world revolves around modern tragedy.

 ---

	12

	rory had a headache.  yeah, like he couldn't have guessed he would
 have been struck with that at some time that day.  after all, he didn't
 sleep.  no rest followed his crime.  & anyhow, the drugs didn't really
 help.

	though, maybe he just needed more.  what else could get him out of
 this painful boredom?

	-  eric?

	eric was in the kitchen, doing something.

	-  yeah?

        -  still have some of that hasch?

	-  nope.  just finished it.  why, you want some?

	-  i have a headache.

	-  i see.  i guess there's some aspirin in the bathroom.

        -  i checked - it's an empty bottle.

        -  why dontcha call rob?

	-  because i don't.

        -  i thought you bought all your shit from him.

	-  yeah, i did.  where do you buy yours?

	-  depends.  what's the problem with rob?

	-  he knows may.

	-  he knows - oh.  even though - okay, i see.  cool.  nevermind.

        -  so .. ?

        -  well, i never ever buy hemp.  i can hook you up with acid or
 shrooms, though ..

	-  sure.  highway to bad trip.

	-  i can call 'em up & check out if they have any hemp, though.

	-  yeah, same kind we had today, i guess.  no thanks.

	-  joan has some pretty good plants, i hear.

        -  uh, really?

	-  she's into organics.  i bought shrooms outta her once & they were
 chocolate-coated.  you get the style.

	-  chocolate-coated?

	-  yeah.  plain shrooms taste so bad.  those were pretty damn good.

	-  okay.  think you can call her up?

	-  sure thing.  but she can't come over here.

	-  uh?  why so?

	-  she won't do it, that's all.  you'll have to move your ass there
 yourself.

	-  i _can't_ go outside, eric.  not 'till tonight, & even then -

        -  i know, dummy.  & since i'm so fuckin' stupid, i'll be nice & go
 get it for you.  however, i expect that when i'm back, you tell me what 
 exactly happened last night.

	-  but i told you ..

	-  sure, man.  & there's always the option of me giving you the boot
 outta my place.

	silence.

        -  so she's the one who called ..

        he knew eric knew who "she" was standing for.

	-  yeah.

	-  & she was looking for me.

	-  actually, no.

	-  what?

	-  she was looking for her boyfriend.  andrew.

	-  she was?

	-  yeah.  lemme call joan now.

 ---

	13

        there he was, alone, again.

	eric was heading for joan's.  he woke her up when he called.  she 
 didn't seem to mind all that much, according to him, because her alarm clock 
 was broken & she had no other way to wake up than the first call for dope 
 she'd get everyday, sometimes in the middle of the morning, sometimes 
 slightly after the beginning of the evening.

	-  i'll be back in an hour, he said.

	one hour, rory realized.  how in hell was he gonna spend one hour, 
 alone, with a crawling headache & nothing to drown it in?  

	just feeling heavy.

	so damn cool.

	he turned on the tv set, for the sole reason that there was nothing
 better to do.  he tried to concentrate on this sole source, eating the last
 piece of cold pizza.

 ---

	14

	that specific afternoon, he could never write his letter.

	he was interrupted by the telephone.  actually, he wasn't really
 _interrupted_.  he wasn't even thinking about the letter.  at that time, he
 was reading some random gibberish he'd found somewhere in his room.  he was 
 so unable to figure what to talk about, anything would distract him.

	he could have stayed at his desk, of course, because his main 
 priority was the letter - & he knew for a fact that speaking on the 
 telephone would really kill any inspiration he could have, if any.  but he
 was felling bored, & no one had called him in the past two days, so he 
 answered.

	it was may.

	-  rory, can you come over here?

	she had always been that direct.  he didn't have any possible way to
 say "no".

	-  w - why?

	-  i need to see you.

	the word, "need", was enough to convince him.  he'd give her 
 _anything_ she'd need.  _anytime_.

	maybe she knew that.

	-  sure.

	-  be there in an hour.

	-  okay.  see ya.

	-  bye-bye.

        then he would turn off the 'puter, put a cd in the player & pump up 
 the volume so that the speakers wouldn't play the music - they would _spit_ 
 it.  he sat down & listened to the cd for the fifty minutes it lasted.  then
 he departed, took the bus, got at may's late.

	-  you're late, she said.

	maybe it was a good thing that she'd wait some more.  maybe she'd
 _need_ him more, too.

	-  sorry.

	-  s'alright, rory.

	she'd never say "ro", like every other human being.  sometimes she'd
 tell him how pissed she was that her name had only one syllable.  "though, 
 she'd often say, it prevents people from abbreviating it."
 
	-  so what did you need me for?

	-  i needed to see you, she replied.

	-  what does this mean?

	she couldn't answer for a couple seconds.  he didn't mind the 
 silence.  he was feeling well.

	-  do you still love me, rory?

        silence.  he was stunned at how submissive the question was.

	-  may, you know i do, dammit.  what do you think?

	-  you hardly ever say it anymore.

	-  well, okay, there.  i love you, may.  

	-  i'm sorry.

	-  holy shit, may, don't be _sorry_!

	-  i - i shouldn't have asked you.  i should have figured ..

	-  s'okay, dear.  i mean, i can tell you as often as you want.  i 
 totally dig you.  probably forever, actually, he added, as if he had to
 compensate for all the times he _should have_ said it.

	then, he felt like pointing out:

	-  but you have a boyfriend, may.

	-  i know.  don't remind me.

	-  you told me it was serious.

	-  he likes me a lot, yeah.

	a voice in rory's head started shouting:  "go away, quick - this is
 _dangerous_" but at the same time he lost something he would later refer to 
 as his "capacity of intelligent thought".

 ---

	15

	one hour & a half had passed, & eric was still not there.  whatever
 was on tv was extra-boring, so rory had put the porn tape.  he was in the
 process of rewinding it when she entered the apartment.  eric's girl-he-
 fucks-with - what the hell was her name, again?

	-  um, hi, rory said, as she hasn't even figured that there was
 someone in the apartment.

        -  'lo.  is eric here?

	-  i'm waiting for him.

	-  okay.  s'there any food?

	-  well, we ate all of our pizza ..

        -  yuck!  i hate pizza.

	he had a sudden flashback of eric saying something about pizza & old
 civilizations, but then he didn't feel like arguing on that topic.

	-  you probably know me.  my name's rory.
	
	-  i know.  i've met you a couple times.

	-  yeah.

	she barely knew him, he figured.  & he still didn't know what her 
 name was.  he still tried to engage a conversation - not that he thought she 
 was interesting or anything, but he'd do anything to run away from this 
 boredom.

	-  had any classes today?

	-  classes?

	-  you don't go to school?

	-  not anymore.  i dropped out like four months ago.  art schools are 
 so full of shit.  the people in it are totally snobbish, & all the teachers 
 want is your ass.  art school chicks are so fucking dumb.

	"they're attractive, though", rory said to himself as he watched her
 with more attention.  she was wearing a purple dress that day.

	-  sure.  i guess.

	-  i'm gonna take a shower.

        as she closed the bathroom door, he pressed the "play" key & watched 
 the porn tape for the second time that day.

 ---

	16

	-  so when's eric supposed to come back?

	-  he should be here right now.

	-  what the hell are you watching?

	-  oh!  er, tapes.

	-  my god, that's this retarded stuff eric has.

        -  well, yeah.

	-  so tasteless.  oh well.

	-  well, i don't actually _like_ this.

	-  why do you watch it then?  oh wait.  "because i'm bored."

        -  pretty damn impressive.  how'd you guess? 

	-  there's not too many other reasons why to watch this.

	-  true.

	-  unless you get pleasure from it.

	-  i don't.

	-  don't lie.  you're a man.

	rory could definitely understand why eric loved her so much.

	-  by the way, um, i don't remember your name.

	-  i don't remember yours either, boy.

	he sighed.

	-  call me "piece of shit".

	-  mine's nadia.  sorry for being such an ass, but i'm pissed off.

	-  why so?

        -  eric told me he'd be here.

	-  oh.  well, i'm pretty much pissed too, but i'm too tired to be an 
 ass.

	-  that's cool.  

	-  would you by any chance happen to have any kind of drugs on you?

	-  maybe.

	-  i'd buy some if you don't mind selling it.  i really need to screw 
 with my head a bit more.

	-  where did eric go anyway?

	-  joan's.

	-  joan?  what is he doing there?

	-  buying hemp for me.

	-  holy shit.

	-  what?

	-  if he's really buying any sort of dope from joan, then he sure as
 hell won't be here for a fuckin' while.

	-  uh?

	-  nevermind.  care about pot?

	-  sure.  how much?

	-  just gimme some of yours when eric comes back here.  that'll do 
 it.  deal?

	-  okay.  wanna smoke with me?

	-  alright.  i've got nothing better to do anyway.

	-  pretty much my case actually.

	-  i could have figured.

 ---

	17

        -  so how do you like it now? joan asked.

	eric was stoned as hell.  really awesome, he thought.  he laughed.  
 everytime he'd get in her place to buy stuff, joan would give him something 
 new to try.  he knew she didn't do that with anyone else.  why him, he 
 didn't know - he didn't care about knowing.  & she was incredibly pretty, 
 especially now with the shrooms on.

	-  rad.

	-  i'm gonna have to get more of those.

	-  true.

	-  oh my, i'm like - not there.

	they both laughed for a few minutes, never knowing how to stop.

        -  i thought you had to come back to get that shit to that kid, she
 said, as she was hopelessly trying to get back to a serious tone.

	-  uh, yeah, i guess i should call him to say i'll be late.

	-  i wanna fuck, eric.

	he laughed again, & she laughed too.  something else new to try.  
 life is awesome.

 ---

	18

	may was lying on the mattress.  rory though her face didn't look the 
 same as usual.  she was smiling a content smile.  her hair was like spilled 
 on the bed, all around her head.  he'd just kiss her - & keep kissing & 
 kissing & kissing until he was near a heart attack.  then she said:  "i 
 don't mind soiling the bed sheets, rory."

	he didn't feel the need to ask:  "what the hell are you doing, may?"
 because he sure didn't want to know what the hell she was doing.  the whole 
 situation was insane, but he decided he could care less.  something was 
 happening that he always thought would happen, even though he didn't know if 
 it was going to be _good_ or _bad_.  that was an event that needed to occur.  
 that was a time that needed to be _lived_.

	his panic increased, but still he kissed & kissed & kissed to no 
 avail & she answered by asking for more.  he'd say a word, but she wouldn't 
 let him finish.  more kisses.  more of his hands caressing her face, her 
 arms, her neck, then some covered thus private parts of her skin.  he'd 
 touch them all.  except those areas no one can touch without asking.

	so he'd ask:  "do you trust me?"  she'd nod.  he had almost hoped for 
 a negative answer, but then again, he remembered, she said she didn't mind 
 soiling the bed sheets.  such an obscene way to ask for sex, he thought, but 
 he said nothing about it & slowly removed her clothes, one after one, & made 
 sure to touch every part of her skin.

	he knew what was going to happen, & he was afraid.  he wasn't sure if 
 he actually did want to soil her bed sheets.
 
	but then he kissed & kissed & kissed & fucked & fucked & fucked & she 
 wanted more & more & more & she didn't give him a rest until very late that 
 night after hours of constant battle between both their bodies but still he 
 had no way to sleep because there simply was too much going on in his brain 
 & his heart was beating way too hard so he tried to find a way to forget & 
 even after she felt asleep he kept on kissing her & holding her & rolling 
 over into those wet & soiled bed sheets hoping that the grip he had on her 
 would never ever - wait, this is going way too fast.

 ---

	19

	the joint knocked rory out completely, as he was tired for having no 
 sleep & already had so much latent mixed intoxicants in his blood.  nadia 
 finished it alone, as he was unable to take anymore of it.

	at least, it was real stuff.  he could tell it was real, especially
 after inhaling eric's shit dope this morning.

	-  are you all right?

	-  no, he muttered.

	-  maybe you shouldn't have smoked that.

	-  it's gonna go - it's slowly healing ..

	-  what are you talking about?

	-  i'm wrecked.

	-  this i assumed.

	-  i wanna go - so bad ..

	-  where?

	-  far.

	-  maybe you should get some sleep ..

	-  i dunno.  i don't want to die.

	-  you're not gonna die!

	-  i know.  i'm screwed.  shut me up.

	-  maybe a shower would help you?

	-  i won't be able to stand up long enough.

	-  what about a bath?

	a bath?  the idea seemed weird enough to get his attention.
	
	-  uh .. okay.

        -  follow me to the bathroom.

        -  uh, okay.

	he blindly followed nadia to the bathroom & unclothed himself while 
 she was filling the bath with steamy water.  he didn't even mind being naked
 in front of her.  he lied in the bath, & immediatly got flooded with that 
 mellow feeling.

        -  are you feeling any better now? she kindly asked.

	-  yeah.

	there was a silence, in which rory was floating.

	-  some day, in some party a couple years ago, i had a really nasty 
 bad trip.
 
	-  parties are the worse place for bad trips.
 
	-  right.  i was feeling real bad.  i remember running to the 
 bathroom on the second floor because i had to throw up & people would say 
 some stupid jokes about it.

	-  i hate parties.

	-  then this girl i barely know enters the bathroom & asks me if i'm 
 alright.  i was still on my knees in front of the bowl, in case i had to 
 throw up again.  then she's like, do you want me to help?  i was feeling so 
 shitty i said yes even if i didn't know her at all.

	-  who was it?

	-  she said her name, but i forgot.

	-  & you had a bath?

	-  actually, yes.  she locked the door & took care of me for like an
 hour.  then we went outside.  it was maybe four in the morning & the sun was 
 about to rise.  my bad trip was finishing fading out.

        -  i can't wait for mine to come to an end.

	-  nothing's eternal.

        -  i know.  it's just long & boring.

	silence.  he realized he was hard.  the image of that random girl 
 giving nadia a bath swirled into his stoned, tired, wrecked mind & turned 
 into some sort of obscene teenage lesbian porn he had a hard time getting
 away from.  his eyes closed by themselves & the lesbian porn movie that was
 playing in his head became suddenly disproportioned as his whole reality was 
 caught in the rapid eye movement.

        death wouldn't taste like a flower.  death would taste like sickness.
 death would bring heavy, wet, overall bad ill body fluids to flow into him.

	when he opened his eyes she was putting her left foot in the bath.
 before he knew it, both her legs were immersed, she was sitting on his
 chest, the purple robe floating over his whole body as she gave him a 
 slow-motioned blow job & spitted the sperm in the water.  then she took a 
 soap bar & without a word washed him, softly, with motherly care.

	-  that's what she did to me.

	he couldn't say anything.
	
	she got out of the bath, & went out of the bathroom.  rory felt back 
 into half-sleep.

 ---

	20

	it was the end of the afternoon when he woke up, confused.

	nadia was in the kitchen, drinking coffee, & outside the sky was 
 dull, pale grey.  to him it felt like early morning but he didn't mention
 the fact.

	-  hello, "piece of shit".  feel any better?

	-  do you know what's it like to die, nadia?

	-  no.  you?

	-  neither.  but i did kill someone.  i wonder how it feels to be
 killed.

	-  must be .. weird.

	-  if it wasn't for death, you'd be stuck here forever.  realize 
 that?

	-  i do.

	-  still.  being killed.

	-  you really did kill someone?

	he said nothing.  he didn't have to answer.  she didn't have to know.  
 she didn't have to care.  he was clean now, anyway.  it was a new day.  he 
 had no more headache.  that was a chance.  his mind was sort of clear now.  
 he could pretty much figure what was going on.

	she was still wearing the purple dress & it looked dry.

	dry.

	maybe, he told himself, he dreamt all of it.

        yeah, he most probably did dream it.  the same way he dreamt of
 everything before.  none of that stuff made any sense, so it couldn't have 
 happened.  it was as simple as that.

        he congratulated himself for having such a strong logic & served
 himself a cup of coffee.

 ---

	21

	that specific morning, he woke up alone in may's bed.  still covered 
 by her odor.  still inhabited by her presence.  she was a song that he could 
 sing in his own head as much as he wanted.  he realized, wow, he actually 
 _slept_.  he sure wasn't expecting to have any sleep at all.

	maybe he could just die now.  that would help so much.  after that
 much of a high, there was no way he could get back where he was before, that 
 is, in low stagnation.  _no way_, he repeated to himself as he was pondering 
 about the consequences of a suicide.

	where was she, anyhow?  he heard a voice from outside of the bedroom.  
 it was her voice, roaming alone in the apartment.

	oh yeah, she's on the phone.  rory felt good knowing that at least
 she didn't let him alone.  he'd get tidbits of the conversation she had.  he
 didn't care too much of who she was talking to & what she was discussing.
 he had so much other stuff to worry about.  himself, as a matter of fact ..

        but then, he realized, he had to care about that particular 
 conversation.  maybe he could just listen more attentively, _in case_.

	".. sure, but don't come over now, please.  tonight.  ten.  i'll be
 waiting."

	his mind shut down & became silent all of a sudden.  he didn't know 
 such thing was possible.

	he heard her hang up & come back in the room, so he faked sleeping.
 seeing him eyes closed would reassure her.  he knew for a fact that this 
 call, he shouldn't have heard it at all.

	but it had been done.  he did hear it.  she was going to see _him_
 tonight.  even though she & he .. they -
 
	holy crap, was that something he actually wanted to live?

	she came back into bed, touched his skin.  he did as if he was half 
 waking up as she muttered to him:  "how are you?"  after some time he got
 around answering something that sounded like:  "all right" with a fake 
 tired voice & closed his eyes again.  she timidly smiled & a sad feeling
 flooded her.  maybe she knew.  but then again, maybe not.

 ---

	22

	eric entered the apartment around five.  first person he saw was
 nadia, who was biting an apple & reading random magazines in the living 
 room.

	-  hey dear.  what's up?

	-  not much.  your friend & i've been waiting for you all afternoon.

	-  yeah, i know.  sorry.  i tried the heaviest shrooms on the planet, 
 though.

	-  really?

	-  my, that was terrific.  but well, i got stuff for rory too.  where 
 is he?

	-  he's in the room.  dunno what he's doing.

	-  nadia, are you alright?  you look pretty bad.

	-  "rory".  he's suffering, yet he kinda scares me in a weird way.

	-  rory's not scary.  well, not to me.  he has something few people
 have, though.

	-  what?

	-  it has to do with a high state of consciousness.  he's not really
 aware of it himself, though.

	-  um, maybe.  it's your place, anyway.  you do what you want.

	-  sure!  okay, lemme see him now.

	she let him go & he went to the room.  rory was lying on the bed, 
 reading stuff eric wrote a few years ago, when he was about seventeen.

	-  you read that old shit?

	-  yeah.  didn't know you wrote this stuff, man.

	-  how'd you like it?

	-  it's rad.  funny how i could have guessed you wrote it just by 
 reading the first paragraphs, though.

	-  really?  like what?

	-  well.  like:  "it's really dark outside.  i hate it when it's that 
 dark, 'cause i can't see if there's anyone behind my back.  i hate having to 
 feel those things.  i highly prefer blinding 'em with their own light, then 
 shoot them down cold style.  they never expect me 'cause i'm not doing 
 anything they'd normally do."

	-  yeah, that's the story where that guy has this fixation on killing 
 people in the daylight, yet no one ever finds him because the sun is too
 heavy.  it's sort of surrealistic.

        -  the guy once says:  "life's like a four-track.  you can't choose
 the music, but you sure as hell can play with the volume."  funny that you
 wrote that.

        -  or when he asks that other guy about some information, & the other
 guy doesn't know what he's talking about so he tells him:  "i'd rather learn
 from people than teach them stuff.  but you're all so dumb .."  or something
 like that.  & then he kills the dumb guy.

	eric pondered, & finally concluded:

        -  despite the "light" subject, it has a definite noir feel to it.
 dunno if i'd still write that kinda stuff today, though.

	-  who knows.  so you have that stuff?

	-  sure.  sorry it took so long.

	-  no problem, i guess.  nadia had some weed on her.

	-  really?  cool.  gee, you know you scared her?

	-  huh?

	-  that's what she said.  go figure.  wanna smoke now?

	-  sure.  hey, tell me, you're high, right?

	-  guess so.  joan's shrooms were _the_ shit.

        -  i figured.

	-  do i really look that stoned?

	-  not really.  just an impression i got.  so who's rollin'?

 ---

	23

	rory spent that particular afternoon trying to write a letter.  this 
 time, he thought at first, he wouldn't get away from it.
 
        he had left may an hour ago, trying not to look like he _knew_.  now
 he had to tell her that this was totally insane.  he had to tell her that
 she couldn't play with him like that.  he had to tell her that the whole
 thing wasn't _love_.

        okay, sure, it's her boyfriend, he figured.  they can fuck as much as
 they want.  they have the "right" to.  but she doesn't even like him.  &
 after what happened last night - there sure was something wrong, there had
 to be something wrong.  or else, what the hell was there to conclude?  what
 was the fucking _point_?

	he sat in front of his computer, like he did the day before.  it
 appeared to him that he wouldn't write the same thing he'd have written
 then.  actually, it would be completely different.  now, the words, instead
 of being non-existant, were obvious.  way too obvious.  their meaning was 
 slap-in-the-face evidence, & therefore there was no point in writing them.

        boy, he sure did try.  he would search the most subtle words to
 describe what was happening.  but then, he was left with one realization:
 writing was useless.  this time, he had to _do_ something.

	okay, he said to himself, but do what?

	it was no surprise, the answer came all by itself.

 ---

	24

        -  you know, it's pretty damn funny that you've read that old shit i
 wrote.

        -  how come?

	-  because i read some of it the other day for some reason.

	-  you were being nostalgic, i guess?

	-  i don't think so.  the only fiction i read is my own.  i could 
 care less about other people's ramblings.  actually, i'm pretty damn glad i
 wrote all that stuff.  all my own personal truth is contained in those
 stories.  everytime i read them, i learn something about me.  but i hardly
 ever learn anything when reading something someone else wrote.

        -  just consider what you've just said, eric.  you argue that you
 don't read other people's stuff because you can't learn anything from it.
 isn't that nonsense?

        -  i do learn .. from nonfiction.  books that bring up facts,
 theories, science, those teach me a whole lot.  but there's nothing to learn
 from someone else's inside world.  you might get entertained from it, but
 rarely will it get you any sort of intellectual gain.

	-  yeah, i guess.

        -  we are nothing but sums, ro.  & our fiction is an algebra we use
 in order to solve all our personal variables.  we blend the true & the fake
 altogether in all possible ways so that we could later browse through it &
 find some answers.  that's the essence of fiction, & that is why it means
 nothing to other people, unless you're an universal kind of person.

	-  "universal kind of person"?

	-  that would be you, ro.

	-  uh?

        -  i have great respect for you on that matter.  you are even more of
 a sum than most people.  you are everything you ever encountered.  this sort
 of make it easier for you & others to figure out your true meaning.  haven't
 you ever felt like being transparent?

	-  what do you mean?

	-  like, being too pure for people to even handle.

        pure?  he though his life was a big pile of crap.  although he'd
 always do his best in order to never contradict himself.  he'd also strive
 for rightness & truth.  he'd keep on having such "values" even though they
 would basically bring him nothing but shit.  maybe that was what eric meant.

	-  i "guess so".

        -  you believe in shit no one cares about.  you're following some
 kind of bizarre dogma, but you're not blind.  the fact is, you've mixed
 every philosophy you though made sense & created your own self.  & well,
 creating yourself from so many sources is what gave you this individuality.
 most people are so damn restricted nowadays.  they're clones who say they
 want to stay "themselves", so they shield their mind from any external
 input.  they wouldn't want to learn from what they think is not theirs.
 very few christians read the qu'ran.  very few so-called artists had any
 interest in mathematics.  very few joes went beyond their daily reading of
 the newspaper to learn about world history.

	-  so what if i supposedly went past normal everyday bull.  i still
 know nothing.

	-  don't we all know nothing?

	-  okay, okay, fine.

        -  well, here's something i'd like to learn.  what exactly happened
 to you last night?

	-  nothing.

	-  what?

	-  i just flipped out.

	-  what about the cops chasing your ass & that stuff?

	-  i was fucked.  happens sometimes.

	-  wow.  a couple hours ago you could have sworn you killed may, &
 now all you gotta say is:  "i was fucked."

	-  i had a very shitty night.  believe me.  i'm getting paranoid
 sometimes, i guess.

	-  i call that schizophrenia.

	-  i am not schizo.

        -  well, okay, but still, this is weird.  you know, when may called,
 she was looking for her boyfriend, & you know what?

	-  uh, no, he said, with much suspicion.  what?

	-  some guy got killed last night.  his name's alan.  do you know
 him?

	-  not at all.

	-  i talked about this with joan this afternoon, & it appeared that
 alan was may's lover.

	-  _what_?

        -  yeah.  i figured you might not know about it, because may wouldn't
 have told you.  she loves you way too much.

	-  wait.  how in hell does joan know about that?

	-  she sells drugs, ro.  she meets many people.  & people have big
 mouths.  especially when they're stoned.  they always go rambling about
 everyone else's shit.  they can't keep secrets.  hell, see, i told you this
 & you weren't supposed to know.  though, i think it's better if you know, at
 this point.

	-  holy fucking crap.

	-  this is pretty weird, eh?

	-  holy motherfucking crap.

	-  pretty much my thoughts, too.

	-  you say he got _killed_?

	-  yeah.  in some alley.  crude like that.  bang.

	-  holy fucking crap.

	-  hell, shit happens.  life's rough.  though, this is not the
 funniest thing.

	-  okay, rory said, still shocked.  what is the "funniest thing"?

	-  it appears that her boyfriend knew about alan.

	-  oh yeah?

	-  yeah, & it also appears that may was looking for _him_.

	-  uh .. okay?

	-  which pretty much leads us to the conclusion that he's suspect
 number one.

	-  & uh, did she .. find him?

	-  i have no idea if she did, but i did find him.

	-  _what_?

	-  didn't you know he was working for that pizza place?

	-  you mean -

	-  yeah.  he sorta delivered us a pizza today.

 ---

	25

	that specific evening, rory ate a bowl of soup, then looked for the
 handgun he had hidden in his wardrobe.  he bought it six months ago from
 some dealer who was getting rid of his illegal material because he thought 
 he was gonna get busted - which event didn't happen.  he stared at it for a
 long time.  he wondered what it would be to actually use it.  actually do
 harm.

	around seven forty-five, he packed up, put his gun in his back pack
 & left his apartment.  he departed early, because there would be no excuse
 if he got there late.  this was a one-chance shot.

	still, he walked relatively slowly.  he noticed he wasn't nervous. 
 he had the certainty he'd be nervous as hell if he was to do something like 
 that.  it was early, though.  the daylight slowly extinguished & the sky
 turned into a gigantic orange & purple mass surrounding a blood red sun.
 how come, he wondered, is the cause to effect process allowing such a grand,
 beautiful yet dramatic display of colors right on what was gonna be one of
 the most horrible days of his life?  what's that if not a sick showcase of
 random?

	he felt that way before - it was the feeling of being pushed to 
 limits you're not sure you want to be pushed to.  he also felt alone, but 
 hey, he felt alone _all the time_.  to him his life was like walking blindly
 into nothingness.  he had no idea when he actually entered into nothingness.
 now he knew there was no way to go back.  all he could do was to walk, walk,
 walk.  until something happens.

	when he got in the alley, the sky was already dark.  it was almost
 nine.  he sat on a chair in the block's backyard & started waiting.  there
 was no light whatsoever, but after half an hour, he'd see everything okay.
 he took the gun off his back pack & put it in his jean.  he was ready.

	this was a tricky case, because all he knew from may's boyfriend was
 what he heard from may - he had never actually saw him.  she'd tell him 
 about how nice, how caring he was.  all the times he'd have to keep himself 
 from saying:  "shut up!"  he didn't want to know about his existence.  
 everything she'd say about him would reinforce the idea that he was just a 
 pathetic loser.
 
	but now he was going to kill him.

	the stars began to appear in the sky, one after one.

	i'm one of them, rory thought.  one of these stars is me.  looking so
 small, yet being so big.  alone.  separated from anything else by billions 
 of light years.  observed from all over the galaxy, yet never touched.  i'm
 definitely one of them.  one of those that burn - no, wait, that should be 
 past tense.  i'm a dead star.  still shining, yet slowly losing all of my 
 heat.  looking so harmful, yet hopelessly dying.

	so right, though.  so .. pure.

        at nine fifty-seven, a man walked in the alley.  it's him, rory
 decided, as he loaded his gun, waited for the man to pass by, got up & shot
 him.

                                     ____
                                  ___|  |_ _
                               ___|  |  _______
                               |     |  |     | 
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 ----------------------------- |  |  |  |  |  | -----------------------------
 ----------------------------- |  |  |  |  |  | -----------------------------
                               |  |  |  |  |  |
                               |  |  |  |  |  |                    
                               |_____|  |_____|
                                     |___ _

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