Testing my Hypothesis that my Roommate has been Reading my Diary
Today’s entry:
Have started poisoning F.
Will now watch for signs.
For his own Good
“Yes,” he admitted to me, “it’s bad, inexcusably bad, that it had gotten to the point where saving the relationship all came down to the creation, delivery, and appreciation of a carefully crafted mix-tape—the best mix-tape ever on the topic of unrequited love, if you ask me.”
“What happened?”
“It was stolen out of my car. They didn’t touch anything else. I don’t get it.”
“The Universe is an indifferent construct,” I told him, knowing that, at some point, the investigation would lead them to me.
On the Writer’s Shelf
His books, all of which were published some thirty to forty years ago, a copy of The Seagull, and a gun.
Mr. Death
He appeared at the kitchen window, like in a fifties sitcom, and chatted her up in a neighborly way.
After the Fight
I was staring straight up through the tree skeletons at the snow floating down. I was very cold. I was lying on my back on a bit of black ice on a walkway through the commons. I could not remember how I got there.
My girlfriend stomped over and pushed on my arm with the heel of her boot like she was testing the liveliness of a roadkill.
“Hey,” I said.
“Well, I guess you’re not dead,” she said, and stomped off again toward the tram.
Guinness Book Attempt
I needed to stay up for 12 nights. My buddies were helping me. Restaurants brought food, thinking I was a boy scout. The third day I began muttering and talking to myself. On the fourth day, I began yelling at people. They took me off the radio and they took me off TV. On the fifth day: my friends spiked my coffee with sleeping pills they had ground up with two spoons.
Bounty
It had been a long day. He worked late for the third time this week, but everything seemed to be finally going well. He had really turned the corner on everything. New city. New job. Sure, divorce was on the horizon, but even that seemed like a relief now and not a tremendous insult.
He got out of the car, and walked into a convenience store by his apartment. He grabbed a loaf of bread, some eggs, and a single pilsner. As he waited in line, he looked up and saw a poster with his picture on it and the word “Bounty” above his head.
“What the hell?”
“Is this some kind of joke,” he said to the clerk.
She shrugged.
He took the poster down to have a better look at it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the clerk turn away from him as she punched in some numbers and began whispering into the phone.
The Tale of the Twins
Once upon a time there were twins, alike in every way except that one could only open doors and the other could only close them.
One day, the one who could only open doors died, and well, you know the rest.
Contrary to What You’ve Heard about Screaming
“Jay is a project manager from Athens we abducted three days ago. If you want to learn more about him, login, and use your subscriber code to access his entire Facebook site, as well as his WhatsApp and Telegram accounts—including all the messages he’s deleted in the last year!
“I’ve just received word that Jay has been put into the Extravehicular Mobility Suit. In a couple minutes, we’ll wake him up with a shot of adrenaline, and then eject him from the space station. He’ll have thirty minutes to get his bearings, figure out the suit, and then maneuver his way back to the docking doors before his oxygen runs out, while you, our special subscribers, get to watch and listen.
“Okay, I’ve gotten the thumbs up. Here we go! Contestant number 59640, it’s time to wake up! I’m sure you’ve got questions.“
Portent
Nothing bad ever happens at the Scissors Museum, he said, twisting his mustachio.
