not the triumphant coming out he had planned

his skills didn’t lie in the regular types of things

he couldn’t draw

or write

or speak all that well

he was a nice guy his neighbors said

a bit of a loner

shy and quiet

but always had a smile and wave when he passed them in the hallway

what he had was a sickness

he was good with knives

ever since he found the wounded deer in the woods

it had been hit by a car and managed to limp it’s way into the trees

he told himself it was a mercy killing


the fancy term for putting it down

not the same scenario for the neighbor’s dog though

soon all the cats went missing around the block

no one had any doubt who was likely behind it

but no one had proof

that was another talent of his

clean up

so when you aren’t good with people

but have a talent for cutting and cleaning up

and a driving urge to inflict pain

it’s bound to catch up to you

when he finally cracked

stopped following his set of rules

it went pretty quickly into free fall mode

he was ready

it hadn’t been two months

the cycle was escalating

he knew that was a bad sign

but the voices didn’t have calendars

they had need

and there is only so many cold showers and self mutilation before those needs had to be met

so he caved

found himself looking at every person walking alone with hunger

suddenly too close too home wasn’t a concern

finally he snapped

she was a whore from a little town

moved to the city to make something if herself

began supplementing her day job with a night job on the streets

easy money

he was the wrong john on an even worse night

and as he sat with her dismembered body strewn across his living room

her delicate fingers on a plate on the coffee table

her overly made up face in a look of frozen horror in the freezer

and flashing lights strobing through the open blinds

red and blue alternating and driving into his brain like needles

he panicked

his scrapbook of yellowed polaroids was on the couch

but he didn’t care

this was his blaze of glory

his chance to tell his story

of the sexually abusive uncle

the string of abusive boyfriends his mother ran through like a cavaclade of scumbags and parolees

finally his story would be told

but he wasn’t ready

and as they banged on his door he struggled to get his make up just right

the seam on his pantyhose in place

those size seventeen pumps strapped on

he wasn’t ready for his close up

time slowed down

he watched the two wires in half time fly across the room

felt the bite of the probes in his chest and face

the electrical surge coursing through him as he tumbled to the floor

unresponsive muscles twitching and shaking

his bladder released

this was not the triumphant coming out he had planned

this was nothing like on television

but he knew before he pissed himself

he looked like a million bucks

and that was important

it was all that mattered


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