From the wacked out side of my head…

I got this letter a few days ago. It didn’t say from whom, or from where, all it said was this:

Ever notice how closely related love and hate are? Think about it. When you’re in love with someone, you think about them all the time, you wonder where they are, and you hope they feel the same way about you. The same can be said for hate. What is hate if not a pervasion of love, and vice versa?
The problem is, I’m not sure if I love you or if I hate you. The two seem so close that I can’t tell which is which. I can’t stop thinking about you, but I can’t tell if it’s because I want to kiss you or light your guts on fire. It’s been quite a while, and I’m still not sure.
I suppose I’ll just have to wait until I see you bleed to see if I cry or laugh.

Now, usually I’m happy when I get mail, but you can obviously believe that this one wasn’t as warmly received. But, nothing happened for a few days, so I forgot about it. Figured it was just some nut.
Then just some nut accosted me.
Next thing I remember is coming to, groggy. Chloroform? Who the hell uses chloroform anymore? And won’t that shit give me cancer or something? Damn.
Oh, wait. The letter.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Jesus Christ, what the hell is going to happen to me?
I can’t see.
Fuck, fuck!
Jesus Christ. Oh Jesus Jesus.
A noise.
Someone’s here. Coming through the door. Feet are slightly scuffing the floor. Crimony, doesn’t anyone pick up their feet when they walk anymore? And Jesus Christ why am I worrying about that at a time like this?
Now Silence.
Door didn’t close.
He/she/its still here.
But where? Can’t hear breathing or anything. Where?
Darkness and silence. Darkness, nothing but darkness.
Oh Jesus. Now I hear movement again. An inhalation of breath, right next to my ear…
“Joan was quizzical, studied pataphysical…”
Singing? Christ, I know this song. He’s singing it slower, more deliberate, with more… relish. He’s enjoying this song. I know this song. And I don’t like how it ends.
“science in the home. Late nights all alone with a test tube, oh, oh-oh oh…”
Moving. The sound is moving. Around the room, around me. Moving in a circle.
Echo. Lots of echo. We must be in a large, empty room. It keeps moving. And singing.
God, stop singing. Stop.
“Maxwell Edison, majoring in medicine, calls her on the phone…”
He knows. It knows. It knows I know this song. Someone who knows me, it’s someone who knows me. They know I know what’s going to happen, and they’re making me wait.
This is hell, waiting. Can’t move, tied. Can’t see, blinded. Only hearing. Only hearing that God damned song.
“Can I take you out to the pictures, Jo-oh-oh-ohn?”
“But as she’s getting ready to go, a knock comes on the door…”
Pain. Blinding pain. Right above my right eye. I feel the blood. I see stars even though I can’t see at all. It’s running down my forehead, over my nose, and into my mouth.
Pennies. I taste pennies. But I’ve never really tasted a penny. I’ve smelled them and it tastes like they smell when they’ve been in my hand too long and they get all sweaty.
So much pain, it’s slowly pick-axing its way into the back of my head, white hot and throbbing, and the whole damn time he keeps singing.
“Bang bang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer came down upon her head…”
Why does this pain keep going? Why can’t it just end? Why can’t I pass out? Why can’t I die?
And why does this son of a bitch keep singing?
“Clang Clang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer made sure that she was dead…”
He must like seeing me bleed. He must hate me.
“Back in school again, Maxwell plays the fool again…”
He just keeps going. Why do I keep calling him he? It could be a girl, I don’t know. And I should really stop thinking, it’s starting to hurt too much.
“Teacher gets annoyed. Wishing to avoid an unpleasant see-ee-ee-een…”
I just keep bleeding. Bleeding and Bleeding.
“She tells Max to stay, when the class has gone away, so he waits behind…”
Is my nose broken? No. But it soon will be.
“Writing fifty times I must not be so-oh-oh-oh…”
Oh no, here it comes again.
“But when she turns her back on the boy, he creeps up from behind…”
He’s behind me too. He’s planned this.
Another stab of white hot pain, this time over the other eye. Any more of this and I might lose my eyes forever. I can tell the orbital bones are gone. Powder. Dust. Ashes to ashes. The blood’s starting to feel good, like a welcoming. calming effect.
“Bang Bang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer came down upon her head…”
There there, it’s okay, the blood means it’s not in vain, the blood is the receipt…
“Clang Clang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer made sure that she was dead…”
Jesus. I get it now. He’s actually using a hammer. Probably a silver one.
Oh Jesus Jesus Lord.
Blood keeps coming, keeps on bleeding.
“PC thirty one, says we caught a dirty one, Maxwell stands alone…”
He’s all over, in my ears, behind, in front, far away, close…
“Paiting testimonial pictures, oh-oh-oh-oh…”
Nose is broken now. He punctuates certain words real close to my ears.
My ears.
My ears still work.
I wish they wouldn’t.
“Rose and Valerie, screaming from the gallery, say he must go free…”
He jiggles the ropes a bit. He’s mocking me.
“The judge does not agree and he tells them so, oh-oh-oh…”
Here it comes.
“But as the words are leaving his lips, a noise comes from behind…”
Do it. I don’t care anymore.
More pain. He’s slowly killing me. Certain it’s a man now. Sounds like a man. Hits like a man.
Does the pain even register anymore? I can’t tell. Too much. Too much blood, too much pain, too much everything. I think I’m crying, but there’s too much blood.
“Bang Bang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer came down upon his head…”
Blood. Tears. Death is coming soon.
“Clang Clang Maxwell’s Silver Hammer made sure that he was DEAD…”
And he puncuates “DEAD” and kicks my chair back. I’m on my back and choking on my own blood, gallons of blood. The blindfold, now sopping with blood and bits of bone, falls down a bit.
“Silver Hammer…” he drawls out like a snake.
Eyes still work. I see his face.
I knew it. It was a man.
One last strike. Then darkness.
But now, it’s a better darkness.
Sweet darkness.
End darkness.

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