Do I Really Have To Explain That This is Even More Fiction? (No)

She’s not here, and you know why, don’t you? You liked it, didn’t you? Yes, no need to thank me. Shut up. Oh, don’t be cruel – after everything I’ve done for you? Shut up. Where would you be without me? Shut up! I’m the wind beneath your wings, baby. Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Fine, fine . . .

“He was a good man, a good . . . Good man.”

“Yes, yes he was . . . Real shame. Really.”

Oh, you’re such a liar. He was a good person, at heart, and I know it. I saw him at his best – and at his worst – he could’ve changed back. I know it. No, you don’t. Sure, I only knew him for a few months, after he started working with me at the burger joint, but I . . . I never saw someone fall so fast and hard, and it wasn’t the end of the world. Liar. I mean, it’s not like it was . . . Intentional that he died – or anything like that. Right.

“I knew him since he was this high, eh?”

“Oh, wow, really? I only knew him . . . A short while.”

“Huh? How long?”

“A half a year or so, I guess . . . Worked with him, at the j-job.”

You’re a real case, you know that? Why don’t you tell them the truth, for once – liar! I remember when he first came to work; the manager said he came highly recommended from higher-up, so we had to treat him real good. Used to tease him, ya know, call him the manager’s pet and stuff . . . Heh, he took it real well, all in all – never seemed agitated or nothin’. Never? We all knew when he started using – it was God awful apparent. I don’t know how he got his hands on the stuff. Don’t you? The manager fired him the third day he came in completely gone: out of his mind, wasted.

“He could’ve done such great things, had his life not been cut short – Such a tragedy!”

“Yeah, it real-really is, eh? So sad . . . “

“Man, are you alright? You look pale. You alright?”

“I’m . . . Fine.”

He came to you, after that, and you know it. Came to you for help. He called me on the phone, two days after he got axed. Said he needed money, help – I told him I couldn’t spare nothin’, but I told him where to go. Didn’t you? He I couldn’t believe it when he showed up at my door, it was crazy. He looked all sorts of torn up – withdrawal, I guess. I shut the door in his face, it was all I could do. All? Yes! Was it? Yes! Liar! No!

“I hope they catch the vagrant who did this to him! Justice should be served.”

“Me too. I’d kill him myself, given the cha-chance. Do to him what he did to . . . H-h-him . . . Ugh.”

“You want some water?”

“Sure, that’d be . . . Great.”

Only you know the truth, Bobo: only you. That was the last time I saw him, ever. Tell them the truth, Bobo. Tell them! I watched through the window, as he walked away – staggering, falling over himself. What about her? What about her? Her? Her! No. Yes! No! Yes, Bobo! Yes! Her.

“His fiancé must be heart-broken – Oh, I hope she took it well!”

“Ye-yeah . . . I heard she was doing good, you know, in spite of everything . . . Strong girl.”

You know all about her, eh? Really familiar with who she is, how she works, what she thinks, how she feels . . . Shut up! Oh, you don’t want to hear about it? I guess so, considering you did it, yourself, and were, thus, there and all, heh! God, I wish you’d shut up. Don’t you? Ugh. She was really sweet, huh?

“That is a beautiful arrangement of flowers, who did it?”

Listen to them.

“Oh, that would be . . . Uh, I think Betsy brought it in. You know, she’s been seeing that tall guy, a lot.”

They need to know, Bobo.

“Has she, now? Do I smell romance, tee!”

Bobo? Bobby-boy? Boborino?

“Wheehee! I bet! I sure do!”

Nobody knows . . .

“Aw, now look at you, aren’t you just growing up nice and big and strong?”

. . . Except for you, of course.

“Yes, he’s just like his father! He’ll be a pro-baseball player, I bet!”

They rattle away, like skeletons with loose jawbones: oblivious, without a clue. No trace of the killer left behind, they say. Nobody knows.

“I sure hope so, someone has to support poor Lisa, always slaving around the house. Hmph, that husband of her’s, I swear!”

Tell them.

“Yes, I sometimes wonder if he works, or if he just goes out and drinks with floozy tramps!”

Tell them what you know.

“Brenda! Stop that! This is a solemn occasion, show some respect for the deceased.”

They must know the truth.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Toffee cake?”

The toffee cake is delicious, isn’t it?

“Ooo, lovely! I will have some.”

What? The toffee cake is quite tasty. What do you mean? What do you mean, what do I mean? It’s toffee cake, Bobo, and it’s good. Eat some. I don’t like toffee all that much, and you know that. Eat it, Bobo. I don’t . . . Want any. Eat it! Stop fucking with me. I don’t want any damned toffee cake. Aw, come on, eat --

“NO!”