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    Ow.Fucking ow.


    All right.   Show of hands now.

    Who’s been a bit worried,for me, then?   Come on – confess.   Hmm?   Really?



    Let’s just say it would take some fucking ‘special circumstances’ for a drug-fucked, gun-toting, trigger-happy, teen bully to take down Jonathon.   Even on Halloween.   Let alone the whole bloody narrative cliche of it, people, because – duh – how the fuck would I be writing in past tense in that last post if I was dead?  

    (Well, when I say ‘dead’, I mean… you know what I mean.   Shut the fuck up.)

    I think Brix had been into Mom’s  particular potent stash last night – the dude was fucking gone.   Zombie man.   Wild-eyed, breathing hard, shaking like a mother-fucker… and holding a hand gun.  

    Didn’t say a fucking word – just lifted his arm a little bit, and shot me.

    Then there was stillness.


    Down the hall was a fairly raucous costume party with echoing screams of laughter and music pumping out loud enough to rock the building foundations.   The gunshot was a small, passing sound effect.

    We stood there.   Door-to-door dopplegangers, a villain and his shadow-self – though who the fuck knew which was which now.   Now his horrified eyes looked into mine as I raised a hand to the gaping wound in my abdomen, and then looked down at the gory fingers.   It’s been a long time since I saw the color of my own blood – rich, beautiful, crimson horror.  

    Behind Brix, along the hallway, a Jedi chased Snow White away from the party.   They didn’t even look twice at the assassin and the walking corpse in the neighbouring doorway.   A demon dad used his plastic pitchfork to shepherd a ninja turtle, two whining fairies, a pint-sized werewolf and Harry Potter back against the wall to let them through, then ushered his flock on to the next apartment because my door was already occupied.

    Brix blinked.   And he stepped back.   And then he ran like fuck.


    So I slowly shut the door.   And put the chain on.   And tried not to bleed too much on the floorboards, because the Cat had smelt excitement, and was either endeavoring to help clean up, or indulging a secret dark murderous pet fantasy, by helping itself to the scarlet spillage in my wake.   Little fucker.

    I knew there was a reason I hated Halloween.   Fuck.   Ow.




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