Wicked Game
"Nobody loves no one." He staggers into the alley and croaks like a raven.
When and where did he first hear this song? He can't quite remember. His whole body is on fire and the world has just broken his heart. The lyrics of this song sounds like a spell and now he's been cursed. All he wants to do is stop feeling this sudden hunger. He's one of those foolish people and he too wants to be saved. He places his hand on the brick wall of the alley and immediately feels the cool roughness.
"Nobody loves no one." In a monotone he repeats the dull sentence.
Is this the exact place? Is this the acute spot where she let the other man kiss her? He imagines the moment when their lips met. He listens to the phantom of her soft breathless moans. He stands there motionless. His eyes burn with rage and desire. Darkness descends around him. The demons hidden deep down inside crawl out. There's only one way to end this game. The weight of his Glock and the extra bullets. His violent and brutal needs. Once upon a time he was a happy man.
"No, I want to fall in love." He smiles and sings in a low low voice.
His car slides into the parking lot. He kills the engine. The night is deep and his spirit is high. Soundlessly he climbs up the stairs. Soundlessly he comes to her door. Obsession. Sweet sad obsession. For a brief second he wonders why he is here. His Glock feels solid in his hand. The "Knock-knock" games they used to play. The choo choo train. He was always the doctor. How times flies. The good old days. Everything is going to an end. Blood spill. Gunpowder residue. He lets himself in. He relocks the door. The small apartment looks the same. A patch of moonlight splashes onto the floor. He hates the threadbare carpet. So plain. So cheap. So ordinary and average. So everyday life. He stands there in the messy living room with his gun in his hand. It won't take long. She won't feel a thing. Except for the pain. The everlasting pain. Addio, Cupcake. He starts towards her bedroom. He raises his gun. He never makes a sound. His smile never wavers. He's oh too ready to pull the trigger.
A single shot rips through the air.
He stares at the naked man. That mocha latte body. That mocha latte hand. That German-made gun. The bullet that tore through his heart. He tries to make a sound. He fails. His Glock drops from his hand. He gasps out his last breath. His body hits the floor. Nobody loves no one. His plan has worked.
~Theme Song: Wicked Game by Chris Isaak~