Stockholm: Agent of Chaos
Day 1
The room was pitch black. I sat in a wooden chair with my feet tied to the legs and my arms behind me. An old and smelly rag was shoved in my mouth and secured by duct tape which was pulling at my hair. The more I struggled to get free, the more the rope chafed at my skin. I heard a blood curling laugh followed by a flick of a light. Though my vision was still very limited with the dull light, I thanked God for it. Footsteps approached me slowly from behind, knowing not of what was to come, I wriggled frantically. The laugh again.
How did I even get here?, I questioned myself.
My eyes squeezed shut and I prayed for a quick ending. A blast to the back of the head would be quite grand. Hot breath hit my face and I knew my killer stood before me. "Why so serious?" a giggly voice asked. I gradually opened my eyes only to see a fool, a freak, stand before me. A face painted white with thick, black makeup around the eyes and bright red lipstick smeared across his face forming a gigantic and unrealistic smile. His purple suit was worn and ripped in many places. He wore big and goofy black shoes and closely resembled a psychopathic clown. Greasy, faded green hair clung to his face and yellow teeth showed behind the wide grin.
He held a small pocket knife to my face and slid it slowly across my cheek. I heard the surface of the weapon barely scraping the skin on my face. "Wanna know how I got these scars?" he asked. After a short silence, he yelled, "I said, 'Wanna know how I got these scars?'."
I mumbled 'yes' through the rag and he chuckled.
"Ya know," he began, "I once had a friend who looked like you. Beautiful. She had the same long, black hair as you. Perfect green eyes." He rubbed his rough thumb against my face. "I decided to tell her one day how... how gorgeous I thought she was. During her birthday party. Do you know what she did?"
Fearing another outburst I again spoke through the rag, "Wot?"
"She laughed a me!" he said as he began cracking up. He caught his breath and continued, "She... she said that we were just friends and she just enjoyed spending 'friendly' time with me. Can you believe that?! Oh my. What a riot she was!" He licked his dry and cracked lips and proceeded. "Then! Then after she sees that I'm clearly upset, she goes on to say, 'Why so serious? Let's go back to the party.' Why so serious, I ask myself over and over. Why so serious? Why so fucking serious? So I drag her into the bathroom and take a knife, this knife to be exact, and tell her I'll never be serious about anything again."
He removed the rag from my mouth and put the knife inside my face. I began to cry and begged him not to rip my cheek in half. "I tell her that I'm going to smile forever, just for her, and I cut my face wide open. That's how I got these scars." I felt the pressure from the knife grow in my mouth. My eyes squeezed shut once more but suddenly the pressure was gone and there was no more knife. I slowly opened my eyes and he softly moved the hair out of my face. He used his index finger to put my sweat-drenched hair behind my ear. I flinched as he moved in towards me but instead of him inflicting some type of harm on me, he placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. He walked out of the dark and moist room I was in and turned the light out behind him.
How did I even get here?, I questioned myself.
My eyes squeezed shut and I prayed for a quick ending. A blast to the back of the head would be quite grand. Hot breath hit my face and I knew my killer stood before me. "Why so serious?" a giggly voice asked. I gradually opened my eyes only to see a fool, a freak, stand before me. A face painted white with thick, black makeup around the eyes and bright red lipstick smeared across his face forming a gigantic and unrealistic smile. His purple suit was worn and ripped in many places. He wore big and goofy black shoes and closely resembled a psychopathic clown. Greasy, faded green hair clung to his face and yellow teeth showed behind the wide grin.
He held a small pocket knife to my face and slid it slowly across my cheek. I heard the surface of the weapon barely scraping the skin on my face. "Wanna know how I got these scars?" he asked. After a short silence, he yelled, "I said, 'Wanna know how I got these scars?'."
I mumbled 'yes' through the rag and he chuckled.
"Ya know," he began, "I once had a friend who looked like you. Beautiful. She had the same long, black hair as you. Perfect green eyes." He rubbed his rough thumb against my face. "I decided to tell her one day how... how gorgeous I thought she was. During her birthday party. Do you know what she did?"
Fearing another outburst I again spoke through the rag, "Wot?"
"She laughed a me!" he said as he began cracking up. He caught his breath and continued, "She... she said that we were just friends and she just enjoyed spending 'friendly' time with me. Can you believe that?! Oh my. What a riot she was!" He licked his dry and cracked lips and proceeded. "Then! Then after she sees that I'm clearly upset, she goes on to say, 'Why so serious? Let's go back to the party.' Why so serious, I ask myself over and over. Why so serious? Why so fucking serious? So I drag her into the bathroom and take a knife, this knife to be exact, and tell her I'll never be serious about anything again."
He removed the rag from my mouth and put the knife inside my face. I began to cry and begged him not to rip my cheek in half. "I tell her that I'm going to smile forever, just for her, and I cut my face wide open. That's how I got these scars." I felt the pressure from the knife grow in my mouth. My eyes squeezed shut once more but suddenly the pressure was gone and there was no more knife. I slowly opened my eyes and he softly moved the hair out of my face. He used his index finger to put my sweat-drenched hair behind my ear. I flinched as he moved in towards me but instead of him inflicting some type of harm on me, he placed a gentle kiss on my forehead. He walked out of the dark and moist room I was in and turned the light out behind him.