Fly On The Wall: Fairy Tales From A Misanthropic Universe, Vol. I Read Online Free PDF Page A

to
write about a world in which a guy, not unlike him, had a brown
case, not unlike his. He turned his head right and left, hoping to
find an inkling of inspiration. He found none in the plain
boringness of his surroundings. Being a smartass, he pondered life
instead. The big why. Now ironically inspired, as usual, he
realized very few things needed to end, but his story
did:
    “ The man with the brown case sighed as he opened it. Inside
gray padding hugged the exotic curves of a shining pistol. He
wrapped his hand around it, enjoying the sensuality of the textured
metal. He closed his eyes and brought it to his skull. The frigid
firearm grazed his ear, sending a chill down his spine, and making
his clammy hands wetter still. Little would remain, all would die
and be forgotten. It didn't matter, anything could alleviate his
wretched thoughts. Click. He brought it back down, all the while
trembling with fear, now knowing the strength that he'd had. He
pulled out the clip,fed lead past the lips, and brought it back up
to his head. He trembled now harder, his lip quaked inconsolably.
Sadness welled up in his throat. He couldn't cry, that was too
much, too melodramatic too melancholy, the frog lodged firmly in
his gullet wouldn't let him. It yearned to jump into the rivers
pouring forth from his eyes So instead he breathed harder, and
harder, and harder still. Weakness slowly started creeping in. He
wasn't sure anymore. He breathed harder still. He didn't know if
what he did was right. Such thoughts were, of course, madness, for
most assuredly it was. Now panting like a beast, he straightened
his back, remembering imagined lessons which he'd lacked. He
clenched his eyes harder as man fought against himself. One's will
against his nature.”
    The writer who wrote
finally worked up the courage, emboldened by the length of his
story. He held the gun tight, and his index finger came back. With
a bang, his life was done & he had gained glory. Now the writer
who wrote lay on the ground, next to his typewriter, twitching less
and less. Dead in time for the end of the page.

17 – Soulmates
    Every time he thought of
her his chest tightened, his stomach churned, and an idiotic smile
overcame his stylish brooding. He couldn't help it. He couldn't. It
wasn't a choice – she was almost a curse. But he liked it. He
enjoyed thinking about how sweet and kind she was, about how
heartily she laughed, about how lovingly she looked at him. She
felt the same and had said as much earlier. He experienced a
giddiness which he had long not felt. He was beset by ecstasy each
time he looked at his phone's screen. He could move mountains for
her, she needed only ask.
    “ Let’s run away" she texted, with a happy smiley at the
end.
    "Let's” he typed back,
adding a cheeky wink. Every time they were together others looked
on jealously. Powerful envy, from absolute strangers, was made them
uncomfortable each time they went out. It was clear to all who saw
them that they were meant for one another. Even skeptics, who
insisted that soul mates were but societal hallucinations, created
out of desperation by those who did not understand statistics and
feared being alone, even those people acquiesced and
knew.
    They had not known each
other long, only a few days, but even so their situation was clear
to both of them. He lay on his bed, remembering their first
embrace, remembering their first kiss, and remembering the first
time that their eyes had met. It was too early, that was for sure,
but he loved her all the same.
    She lay on her bed,
pondering and recalling those same moments. With such timing that
even the world's foremost percussionist would have been impressed,
they reached for their phones. They had to speak. They had to hear
each other. They had to feel the unbridled joy provoked by one
another. They spoke, for hours and hours they spoke. They talked
about music, about politics, about food, and about sex. All the
while blissfully unaware.
    In a