Weird paradoxes, Murder, Weaponry, Twist ending, Fire.
Blood burns red
I watched a show the other day that seemed pretty gross. But in all reality I didn’t know what gross was. I remember seeing the blood pour from his stomach on the 1080 p brand new television screen from Walmart with tv stand and accessories from Ikea. I remember how I felt as the blood hit the ground in perfect detail as the police officer laid down the tape and wrote the police report. But then I realized that the person in the live video is me, and the man who I thought was me eating popcorn on the green sofa couch flipping channels who happened to see my death on screen is in fact not me. This man is not me nor is he related to me in any way. He just happened to see my death on screen and is impacted in no way at all by it. It is as insignificant as everyone else is. This is often what I thought as I was torturing people with my bank loans and fraudulent accounts at the bank I worked at. You see I was what the average person would call a “Usurer”. This is a man that supplies you with a large sum of money and knows that you could never possibly pay it back, so we collect. This is how the banking system works. I sucked on other life forms for nourishment. That’s what I did for a living. I know what you are thinking as you read this text. “This doesn’t make sense at all? Why would anyone pay money for this? This is as useless as throwing your money away”. Well is it? You could put this book down right now and sleep like a baby. Go ahead and try, it’s useless. Just put the book down and never pick it back up again and never finish the rest of it. I know what will happen anyway. You will put that book somewhere in your room where the sun doesn’t shine or the dust collects. Then you will find out that eventually your curiosity for the book will get the better of you and you will pick it up again or if you get rid of the book someone will pick it up and repeat the same process you are going through. Well when someone decides to pick this book up again. Sit in a comfortable chair, check all the closets and check outside your window. Check your phone to see what time you need to go to bed. Hide all the sharp objects or other weapons in your room. Now you are really getting curious aren’t you? You are wondering about the precautions before I even start spilling my guts….
So I was in my office sitting in a chair as I wrote out a bank loan for a man in a Hawaiian shirt in my polyester arm chair. As I sign my name I look up to see a cult 45 next to his lap. Someone didn’t notice that he was packing a gun as he went through the metal detectors and X rays. He raises the gun to my head and his face disappears. It is completely gone. His eyes, hair, ears, nose, mouth and even his wrinkles disappear as I slip away and pass out from the initial shock of pointedgunatmyface syndrome. The next thing I know I am in some guys basement. I am sitting in a wooden chair unrestrained and there is nobody with me. I look around to see nothing but a table dimly lit by a 45 watt bulb. On the table there are three types of weapons. knife, a gun with three bullets, and a can of mace. So I go to this table and I take all three things from it and then I realize that there is a staircase. I don’t know whether I should leave or not because I don’t know if they are behind the door or not? I sit at the bottom of the staircase with the gun pointed firmly at the door and all I see through the keyhole is a rafter ceiling in the living room with a noose attached. I have reason to believe that they are on the other side of that door, but I don’t know for sure. All I know is that they are in the house somewhere. I have three weapons and the only safe place in the house I know of is this basement. My memory starts to fade and I wake up in the wooden chair. I look at the table next to me and I see that there is only the pistol and the mace left. I check the room to see nobody is in there and I look through the keyhole to find the noose is still hanging there but the door is wide open. I know there is a way out. I can see it with my own eyes. I sit there for a minute to think and then I realize that I can’t leave. I can’t even turn the door knob. I tried and tried over and over again. And I can’t will myself to open it. But then I realize what happened. You see I am not the man in the basement. I am not the man sitting in the basement with the gun and the mace waiting for death, I am not that man. You see I am the man behind the door. I am the man hiding behind the corner waiting for the man to come out. The man waiting to come out of the basement sees a line of fire light up the living room floor as he sits in the basement wishing he had an answer. As the fire spreads and he gets angry, the man in the basement decides to jump out of the basement and through the fire in the living room and goes straight for the door. I lay him on the ground and stab the man 11 times in the stomach for keeping me waiting outside the door for 11 minutes. 11 minutes that the man sat in the basement and did nothing as the fire consumed this house. So as I sit there and see all of this happen on the evening news I wonder if I was the man that ran out of the basement, or if I was the man who stabbed the man running out of the basement in the stomach 11 times. As I sit on my green couch and I look at my house I find nothing that makes me feel like I have been in the least bit struggling. I wash my clothes and see that I wrote this story already. I find the book I am writing has already been written by me several years earlier. I wrote it and sold the book all over the world and it became a best seller for a few years. So what happens if I skip ahead to see what happens? It appears that I have one paragraph left. The paragraph is listed below.
I dragged him outside and screamed in his face as I stabbed him 11 times. Nothing ever felt better than getting my just desserts. I stabbed him just as much and just as hard as the clock struck 12:30 AM April 20ith 2013. As I stabbed him he smiled, I saw who I killed on TV today. And I saw who you killed in a book today.
It’s an amazing ending to one of my stories, I thought to myself. If anything will sell it would be this moment. As I look at the clock at 12:29 on the exact time of the exact date in the exact place listed in my book. I hear a faint knock at the door. And as I read this last sentence I know that I’m already dead.