by Jon Pelletier

Created on: September 08, 2010

Richard was starting to become wary and paranoid that his first murder may have been simply a bad dream. His inner self was repeating and his conscious self was trying to convince himself that old page was dead.

“He was fired,” Our hero would say, “In the way I fire people best. The man took my life from me that morning. He made me a fool. He knew the reasons for my tears and wanted to help. I did the only thing I could have reasonably.”

Nobody ever really knew what he was telling himself so they figured it was a strange trait of a rather eccentric man. This was the point when he began to gain his repute as a man marked for a position of power eventually. He walked around for a full three days saying these words to random people and demanding that they could not hear him. Some theories included that Richard had a line or two in a movie or play. Our hero knew he was simply wiping all their thoughts clean with his strong presence. They knew nothing of the murder. Nobody expected this otherwise normal student. He was a night owl, perhaps, but this campus was filled with eccentric geniuses.

Richard decided it might be best to sit at the desk in his study and type furiously at the keys as to give at least the impression that he would like to be in some form of media. “A presence,” he told others it was. “Whatever I can do to make a cool difference in this world.”

Most agreed it seemed honorable as some of the greatest minds to walk these halls fell in line with his recent actions. And praise of his actions did not fall on deaf ears. But recently our hero met a woman that he did not overpower.

She was heart shaped and wearing red. She wore thick glasses and drank more brandy than Richard could stomach. She was usually seen with a glass and two ice cubes. He held his head high and drank with her on the commons. He hoped to impress her, as he had practiced two full nights leading to this commons gathering their school held at the beginning of the semester.

This moment was a turning point for our hero because he used it to ask her how a woman of such tiny stature could hold the liquor like she did. Our hero was intoxicated and feared his lust was some deeper emotion and not because of the cocktail of drug and drink he was normally accustom to.

“I hold an inner light,” she told him, motioning towards the bathroom. He scooted after her hoping the motion indicated his second sexual encounter.

She laughed and pulled a small flap of folded paper from her bag. Richard saw a light peaking through the doorframe and noted to her politely that it split the moment in two. She poured white powder on a dry spot on the counter and told him this was her way. He knew what it was and asked for a line implying that he had used regularly for a few years. She obliged and Richard Channing took his first snort of cocaine.

A good night followed. Our hero did not go home with the heart shaped woman but drank as much as she did for the rest of the night. He was able to find his own portion of the drug that night and was surprised that his arguments were far more convincing than ever before. He had found his new vice. This was the way promised by that dark spirit he was following. He didn’t ask the spirit, he just seemed to know.

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