The Fall

Charlie

Long blonde hair.

I mean, really long.

Big eyelashes.

Big blue eyes.

I guess you could say she's a looker.

I've been talking to this chick for awhile.

She seems to want to get in my pants. Wish she'd leave me alone.

Last night she started coming on to me and I told her to "Fuck off,"

She got really hurt.

Why?

How can you care enough to cry over someone?

I've never cried over a person.

Not even when I was little.

The psychiatrists told my parents it was possible that I had Antisocial Personality Disorder. Apparently I showed five out of seven signs of it or something. They claimed you only need three to be diagnosed.

Or maybe it was more than that...

I can't remember. It was so long ago.

They got wary ever since I tried to tie up the neighbor's cat.

Cats.

I hate cats.

They're filthy creatures.

When I'm ruler I'll have them all killed.

That reminds me... this envelope of money has been sitting in my pants for weeks now.

I need to get moving. Really.

I dyed my hair a couple days ago.

Well, bleached it. It's light, light blonde now. Practically white.

Michael kept nagging me about why I dyed it.

I told him if he asked one more time I'd slit his throat.

And I really would, because I have no use for him.

I have more use for the Kid.

She seems to know things.

I mean, maybe she's just really off, but she knows things, I can tell.

She keeps mentioning her father. Crazy.

Michael just thinks she's annoying, although he does act like her older brother sometimes.

I'd call it charming if it didn't annoy me so much.

Michael mainly just does his work.

He goes out in front of the people walking to work and everything and performs little monologues, sings songs. You know.

Street performer.

No one seems to care, though.

At least, not anymore.

They're too focuses on the protests.
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