What a gruesome scene. Something I never thought I would ever see in my lifetime. I don’t think explicit movies have ever managed to offer up anything like this. I’ll tell you what, I certainly wasn’t prepared. I’m probably not even supposed to be a witness. I’m just a simple-minded package delivery guy, trying to do his job. I knocked on his door, and it slid open from the force. I gave out a yell and no one answered. The TV was blasting out some kind of political nonsense. Leftover scrambled eggs were slowly dripping down a dish in the sink. Someone was definitely in the apartment. I yelled out again to no reply. My curiosity got the best of me, so I just walked in. I occasionally knocked on open doors as I went from room to room. A sweet/sour smell was in the air, at intoxicating levels. It was like thousands of blood bags were being stored in the walls. Yes, the smell was definitely blood. Yes, blood was definitely the culprit. I slid open the last door of the apartment and found him. He was dressed to his best on this occasion of suicide.
The jester had shot himself in the mouth. He really meant it too. He hadn’t even bothered to peel off his diamond-patterned suit before he lied on his bed and did the deed. His head was a blooming lily of cherry gelatin nectar. The bullet blew his face into a jigsaw; the melty pieces stuck all over the headboard and the back wall. There weren’t any distinguishing features left of him. He was just a rainbow-colored, diamond-spotted body spread-eagle on a bed with a kindergartener’s pitiful attempt at red construction paper papier-mâché of a cabbage on top. I knew I had just missed the action, because the gore was fresh. I remember hearing the shot when I entered the building. I thought someone had slammed the door to their apartment when it was in fact, the screech of a Desert Eagle’s metal loogie karate kicking the shit out of this poor clown’s brains.
Since there’s no way to retrieve it, I’m fortunate to have remembered his face. I had just seen it earlier today, stuck in a quivering frown. He was sitting on an overturned milk crate, basking in despair and fatigue after attempting and failing to entertain a group of children at a birthday party. I peered over the fence for a while and watched him sulk. Although I wasn’t there to see it, apparently all his funny jokes sucked, all his tricks were weak and his costume made him look like some kind of raging homosexual. Ten-year-old kids aren’t fond of homosexuals, and they certainly let him know. They were verbally abusing him with a vocabulary of violent humor even he, as a supposed master of comedy, couldn’t conjure up. They were relentless in their attack, even resorting to physical violence. They pulled at the bells of his hat and smacked him in the face with open hands. I was just about to jump in and stop all this when he suddenly screamed and ran out of the yard. He skipped and jumped and raced down the street in an odd display of psychotic acrobatics. Honking cars and maddening laughter followed him until he turned a corner and fell out of sight.
Now the poor fuck is dead. And no one should have to see this. No one should have to know. I guess it’s up to me to make sure he disappears without a trace. There would be more dignity for him to fade into obscurity than to subject his spirit to a eulogy written out as hysterical laughter and obscene gay jokes. So, I took the reciprocating saw I found in the janitor’s closet in the hallway and cut him up into pieces. I then placed them in a hefty black garbage bag and attempted to make my way downstairs to the dumpster without being seen. Thankfully, the man was skinny, frail and light to carry. I flung him up over my shoulder and took him through the back door like any large bundle of trash.
I had just rounded the corner and entered the back alley when some children intercepted me. Foolishly, I hadn’t realized that a hole in the bag had allowed one of his forearms to sneak its way out and make an escape. The youngest of the group picked it up off the pavement, twirling the red and soggy flesh log in her hands. She squeezed it and clumps of muscle oozed out from both ends. She laughed a little at this; they all laughed a little. She folded back the silky fabric of costume and the skin to reveal a small section of the bone. She drummed the forearm against the brick wall and giggled at the tinny sound it made. They all giggled at it. Soon, they were swarming all over me to hand over the bag. Startled and overwhelmed, I handed it over to them and backed away. I watched as they pulled out every piece and spread them out over the alley. They rubbed bloody chunks of tissue on their faces as war paint. They chiseled out the guts and bones from his feet and tried to wear them as boots. They pushed their fists into the gelatinous fat of his buttocks and used them as boxing gloves. They found so many ways to make toys out of this poor jester’s body. And they were having so much fun, more fun than I’ve ever seen children have in a long time.
I couldn’t bear to take their toys away from them. And plus, the man is finally able to offer up his talents to our youth. He’s playing his part in helping to raise and secure our future generation. Soaked in blood and fat and bile, they’re finally playing outside games with each other, communicating in real and beneficial arrangements and learning to share their trophies. It really is a beautiful thing. However, they did find it better to peel off all the little bits of his diamond costume and just throw them to the side. They are just waaaay too gay. So fucking gay.
