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I was a big champ, having a big night, but the only thing that felt big was my unhappiness. Because on that night a craving stirred within me to chow down in peace, but it couldn’t be so, as my favorite restaurant was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with customers. I sat one stool away from the edge of the counter, and I couldn’t shake the image of myself as a hideous obstruction.
Even while keeping my elbows tucked to my ribs, I’d still inadvertently brush the man beside me. And though he didn’t say anything, that almost made me feel worse, as it became impossible to tell whether or not he cared. This mundane type of tension was more than my ego could withstand. I was only able to console myself by estimating the bill, as I knew would be cheaper than everyone else’s, and by a lot. This was because three years prior, the staff’s undercooked pork caused my little brother to die from food poisoning, and that made me the beneficiary of an apologetic discount. A ‘lifetime’ discount, ironically. I’d still eat here without it, but the gesture gave me happiness, especially when imagining a hierarchy of value among the regulars.
This solace didn’t last long, as unfortunately, I had a persistent habit of eating without chewing, and the sounds of my choking frightened the other patrons. The moment passed, and the food went down just fine. But my lack of table manners had caused a scene, and even without being told so, I could infer that my presence was unwanted. This incident would leave my memory almost as soon as it happened. But its outline still hung over my heart, forcing me to wrestle with an unidentifiable anguish for the rest of the evening.
Hateful eyes flicked over to where I was sitting. The people around me scowled and were affronted. Except for one, the man sat to my right, who I’d invited to eat with me: Yuki Makoto. He didn’t pay attention to those kinds of things, though it wasn’t thanks to any patience on his part; he just never seemed terribly interested in his surroundings, albeit in a performative way. I don’t have much to say on the matter, other than that his apathy was obviously just a dork ass gimmick, and that would be fine, but the way that it bled through every facet of his personality overstayed its welcome, and it wasn’t attractive, or endearing, or sufferable.
At first, it struck me as self-important and horribly cynical, like he considered himself too cool to care about anything. I used to want to flay him, and even made myself sick with resentment, despite the guy being my only acquaintance. Maybe I had it right the first time, but nowadays I have difficulty imagining him driven by any sort of outlook on life, let alone cynicism. More than anything, it was like he wasn’t there. We’d only hung out a few times and nothing particularly memorable ever came from it. He usually got a free meal though, as he always seemed to ‘forget’ his wallet.
“Yuki?” I initiated the conversation, as always.
“Yea?”
“Do you think I’m a low-quality person?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this.”
Not sure what I expected him to say.
“Huh?! Whatever. That’s fine by me! You don’t know what you’re talking about. Let’s be silent then! If you think I’m annoying, and that silence is so great, I’ll tell you something that’s actually annoying!”
“Okay.”
“Reasoning! It’s horrible. Don’t you feel that way too?”
“Yeah.”
He always agreed. It was unbearable.
“Ahh,” I said. “You’re not getting it.”
“Maybe not.”
“People are always reasoning ‘things’ and getting off on what they ‘think’ about ‘things’, and I can’t deal with it anymore. That’s what I’m trying to say. It’s so much weirder than they realize. They’re so confident in pieces, they can’t understand the whole. You should understand! Since you barely ever talk.”
“When you say ‘things’… whaddya mean by that? Like, specifically.”
“I don’t mean anything specific!”
“Okay, well. I’m just like… I dunno. You said ‘things’ and expected me to follow the conversation. If people aren’t supposed to think about ‘things’, then what are they supposed to think about?”
“Ugh… That’s enough out of you. You’ve already met your word quota for this discussion! I’m paying for your meals, and you can’t even level with me.”
“Mm,” he shrugged.
Even though I gave Yuki free food, I still had no idea why he agreed to hang out with me. He wasn’t aware of it, but he was actually eating his last meal, since I planned to euthanize him right after this, completely justifiably, no less, and in the most literal sense.
His demeanor convinced me that he was a skinwalker, or something else along those lines. I understand how that might sound like a strange accusation, but as a former member of several owner-operated religious organizations, spiritual sensitivity came naturally to me, and it was obvious whenever someone had bad vibes, especially of a satanic sort. He also tended to chew gum while waiting for food. Chewing-gum has no place in a restaurant, so I felt horribly offended in place of the staff. And on top of all that, the guy was a moral degenerate and a womanizer, probably.
Regardless, it was time to set my plan into motion.
“Hey, Yuki, would you mind helping me out with something after this?”
My cadence was flawlessly deceptive.
“Can’t, I gotta look for my keys.”
This guy made me really angry.
“What kind of excuse is that?”
“It’s not an excuse, I need them to open stuff. Might take a while to retrace my steps, so… I better get started, actually.”
He got up and headed for the door.
“Hey! Wait!”
“What?”
“Let me at least buy you something from a vending machine, first!”
“Kay.”
Manipulating him was actually pretty easy. I lured him to a remote part of town, saying there was a rare vending machine, and he trailed behind me at just a large enough distance for it to look like we weren’t friends.
Halfway there I realized my bag had been hanging open the entire time. Everything regarding my plan was inside, and the thought of him noticing made my heart drop, but of course, Yuki wasn’t paying attention. Right before crossing the street, he crouched down and stared into the sunglasses of a homeless man asleep on the sidewalk.
For a moment I thought he was showing concern. But he just adjusted his bangs, using the reflection of the man’s lenses as a mirror.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I asked.
“Nothing. I look really good today.”
The worst part is that he was right.
We climbed a narrow stairway to the rooftop where a lone vending machine hummed.
From my bag, I removed a retractable steel nightstick, and a pair of handcuffs.
Before he could ask what I was doing, I snapped one cuff around his wrist and the other around mine. Rain started to pour around us, a smell of tar filled the air, and everything was going exactly as I pictured in my mind.
His wrist seemed so slender. Handcuffing it was like strangling the throat of a rabbit. I would’ve felt guilty if his expression had conveyed anything other than boredom. My resolve was steeled, and in a grand gesture, I dropped the handcuff key into my mouth and swallowed it.
“We’re not getting anything from the vending machine?” he asked.
Right on cue, the storm worsened. I raised the baton pointedly over my head, and held it there.
“It’s exactly this conceitedness of yours which I condemn, Yuki Makoto! It’s upsetting to me that you’re not ashamed, and are still able to ask for food with a straight face. I said there’d be more to eat because I wanted to be agreeable. If you ever hear me agree with anyone about anything, then I’m lying. It might sound like I’m casting a wide net with that statement, but a wide net is exactly what’s needed, as words alone couldn’t stir that languid imagination of yours to conjure a net so wide as to trap both my bloated body and my disgusting soul, which says a lot about my temperament as a two-faced parasitic whore. I’m loathsome. If anyone has a conception of truth, it can’t exist in the same world as me. I’m not a liar, but I’m the opposite of the truth, truly, and it’s not an exaggeration to say that I’m backstabbing you for basically no reason. But be glad that we’ll never be on the same page! There’s nothing on my page besides humiliation and tasty snacks, neither of which belong inside someone like you, the same way that truth doesn’t belong inside someone like me. These lungs are a factory for dehumanization; they spew words manufactured to deliver super mistruth-disinformation-liar-gas. Even having to listen to my own voice is unpleasant, not because of the metaphorical gas, but because I’m ugly. And that might sound odd, it might sound like there’s nothing interesting or insightful for me to say, because I’m not interesting or insightful, and that’s correct. I’m a disgrace. It’s an insult to the salvation that I wanted to be aggrandized for more than anyone. But if there’s anything close to truth, it’s in the knowledge that there are no good men among the living. Not in your mind, and definitely not on this roof! And I mean men as in dudes.”
“Huh.”
“You’re here to be butchered. I’m about to kill you. That’s why you’re handcuffed. Shouldn’t it go without saying that the two of us have already eaten more than our share? Why is it that you think I’ve treated you to free meals for the past few months? It’s not for your personality. That face you wear is exactly like my brother’s, and how could that be, unless there were forces larger than us at play? I’ll wager that they wanted me to reconcile my hideousness by fattening you up. I wanted to fatten you! So I had you eat! So very much!”
“Alright.”
“Yuki Makoto! You’re the golden child’s splitting image. If I could’ve made you look worse than me, everything would be different, but you never gained a single ounce or recognized my helplessness. In all the money I spent trying to recreate you in my own image, a draw would have been okay, really. Don't you know there’s such humiliation in my vanity?! But it’s not fair for your body to be so handsome. It forced me to play the witch from Hansel & Gretel, an unbecoming role for a man of my stature! And it was all for nothing!”
“That’s interesting,” he finally chimed in.
“What is?”
“The… eh. You said ampersand out loud.”
“Dammit! You weren’t even listening!”
”I’m sorry.”
“Nothing is charming about your nonchalance! I’m terrified at the fact that someone can be so dull to talk to, even in these circumstances. I just can’t wrap my head around the consistency of it! It should’ve been obvious that someone like you wouldn’t understand. What do you think fatness is?!”
“I don’t care.”
“Then I will! To become an indisputable social institution, you have to control context. I believe there’s many outside factors to blame for when people become overweight, not to mention medical issues and the subliminal messaging stuff. And then there’s the vulgarity of men! Why would anyone imitate conventional standards in a world full of wasps!? Let alone ‘bee’ attractive! None of the medical issues or whatever apply to me though, not even for a second. I’m a base and senseless hedonist. There’s a scoundrel within me who loves to sew disarray through my insides. Then what’s the difference between you and me, in that case? Tell me!”
“Huh? Well, it’s just about calorie management or whatever, so I dunno. Guess there’s also like genetics—”
“Correct!”
“Uh—”
“Nononono! You’re misunderstanding, when I stand on biology, I’m referring to the neurological aspect, as all of our dietary decisions are pre-determined! Have you heard of the identical twins who were separated at birth and went on to lead nearly identical lives? I’m kidding! Obviously. No matter what everything says about anything, be aware that I’m espousing poisonous patterns of thought that should’ve been discontinued centuries ago. It’s all reflected in our oldest and most condemnable literary conventions. Even if that weren’t the case, we wouldn’t make many choices as is. We want to be correct more than we want to be free! But we aren’t correct! Yet our ‘autonomy’ is the only justification for why Christ wouldn’t turn stones into bread! We made our own bread, and it gave my brother food poisoning! Well, I think he would’ve preferred stone soup! How could this ‘Christ’ facilitate the desecration of children at the hands of their own parents? It’s why I prefer to be hideous. The answer. And if there’s no autonomy, who would I be allowed to condemn for it!? I hate, hate, hate it! The idea that we’re all the same! I don’t wanna be you, or be forgiven! I don’t wanna be anybody! I don’t wanna be cloned like I’m Oprah! I don’t wanna hurt or touch anything with a soul! I hate the concept of there being truths and institutions and social concepts! Because-”
“This is so boring.”
“Fuck you!”
“But it is. Is your speech supposed to be like… political? Cause if so, it’s too vague to really even respond to. I’m genuinely trying to listen. But you sound ridiculous. All the flowery language isn’t helping either.”
“Stop that! I told you to stop trying to find meaning in people’s words while using worded thoughts!”
“No you didn’t.”
“Shut up! Your time in this world is coming to an end! I’m about to kill you! That’s why I lured you here!”
“You said that a while ago... You tried making me gain weight, it didn’t work, now you’re gonna kill me. You could’ve just said that. One sentence. God.”
“I hate you! Nonono, you don’t get to talk to me like that! You really are dumb! Saying it that way skips over the myriad implications behind my motive! If you even care! And now, I hate myself more than I already did, because you’ve just made me insecure about my big speech. If you hated it so much, you could’ve just spoken up about it, instead of staring at me like a weirdo! And! I won’t kill you directly. I don’t deserve to kill you directly. I don’t hate you. And I’m afraid of prison. But you’ll die here and now! I just need the judgement to come from God! I’m forcing Him to accept one of the wild’s three temptations; He’ll take the bait, He’ll descend from the cross to bludgeon us with it. Do I sound like I pity myself? I’m seriously asking! No, never mind, you’re right not to answer, I already know how I sound! But I’m really, really trying to deny myself the conceitedness of my inborn feelings, unlike you. I’m keeping this rod of Justice raised to the stormy sky because I need lightning to strike us down, it’ll course through the baton and handcuff to subjugate us simultaneously. We deserve it! The only way to be rid of this self-righteousness is to sweep ourselves under a rug!”
“Can I say something? Even if lightning hits us… I just don’t think people die from lightning all that often, to be honest. Like, not nearly as much as you’re banking on. Can’t it be like a symbolic thing? Your god willed me to follow you here, so now you can strike me down with the baton.”
“You’re gonna sound like a grade A moron once we get stricken. People like you just—Whoa!”
I couldn’t believe I didn’t notice it, but that bastard was on his phone. Immediately, I struck his hand with the rod, and then jumped up and down on the cellular device’s remains until they were unrecognizable.
“Did you really think I’d let you call the cops so easily,” I gasped for air, “Yuki Makoto!”
“I was playing Minesweeper…”
This shook me to my core, and I had nothing to say in response.
Rainwater drenched his face. He sat down, stared absently at clouds, and I noticed the dark circles under his eyes for the first time.
“Hey, Suimetsu?”
I was dumbfounded further by the revelation that he remembered my name.
“You’re unhappier than I realized,” Yuki continued.
“Oh yeah?”
“I just wish that I’d given it more thought. Sorry.”
“Well, alright. Your thoughts aren’t important to me, so I'm a bit confused by the sentiment.”
“Wanna go see a movie after this?”
“You’re out of line… trying to court me like one of your emaciated clowns… Just how low do you intend to stoop, weaseling your way out of things? Haha! I knew you were secretly afraid! Is dying really that scary to you?”
“I rescind my offer.”
“No, go on! Try to talk me down! What movie would you like to see?! I’m very picky about cinema, and you’d lose a fortune on popcorn. I hate theatres by the way! I don’t fit into the seats!”
He looked really annoyed. Maybe from my voice.
“Well, what do you like to do then?” Yuki said. “I’ve never asked.”
My eyes rolled involuntarily. I had no hobbies apart from fine dining. And even if I did, it was far too late for him to try and fawn for my forgiveness so shamelessly. It almost hurt to see him in a coat of patience.
He put his free hand into his pocket and slouched.
My back straightened in response.
“Hobbies are beneath me,” I said.
“I thought you were beneath everything, as the opposite of truth.”
“Whatever. There’s just not much I get up to.”
“Me neither. I like karaoke, though.”
“Hm.”
“Okay, Gourmet King, I’m giving a lot of thought to your self-renunciation, and maybe there’s something to be said about your desperation to fall into traditional categories.”
“…What?”
There was a baffling shift in his tone.
“Just saying, it seems more important to you than your excuse that you’re enacting genuinely well-thought-out retributive justice upon yourself. I understand how definitions can be comforting, but what’s the point of torture?”
“You’re likening definitions to a vice?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s unbelievably vague. And isn’t it morally outrageous to be against torture? It’s often said that death can’t be a sufficient punishment, and that there’re more men unworthy of rehabilitation than there are stars in the sky. Moral judgments are supposed to be hasty, and maybe even a little self-indulgent, since no one size fits all. That’s not snarkiness on my part; if we ever tried to sort out an actual order of things, nothing would ever get done, and there would be no virtue.”
“Whatever that means.”
“We can only pray it means something painful. Heh, sounds pretty cool, saying lines like that, huh?”
“Kinda.”
Things became quiet. He complained earlier that the conversation was boring, but only now did I feel embarrassed by it. Part of me wanted to monologue for longer, to break the silence, but the impulse was interrupted by a sudden curiosity for the man in front of me.
“You said you like karaoke?” I asked.
“What about it?”
“I don’t know, I wouldn't have expected that from you. It’s kind of weird.”
“Not really.”
“You go with people? Or—”
“Nah.”
“Okay, well then yea, that’s weird. Just hard to imagine you having fun like that. Or at all, honestly.”
“It’s not weird…”
I felt like a jerk and immediately lost most of my resolve.
“Don’t act so sensitive all of a sudden… Jeez.”
“Sorry,” He replied.
Things became quiet again. My arm was tired from keeping the baton raised, and my knees shook from trepidation.
“Am I really that odd?” He asked.
“Huh? How should I know? You’re cooler than me, so…”
“But that’s such a low bar.”
“It’s not! Shut up! Don’t pretend to be insecure just to demean me!”
Yuki laughed, which I’d never heard before.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your face reminds me of a fish that I used to know.”
Didn’t know what the hell he was on about.
“A fish…?”
“Yeah. He was a really good fish, and an even better friend. I talked to him about all sorts of stuff back in the day. Kind of like what we’re doing now. Anastacio was his name.”
“Weird fucking name.”
“There’s nothing weird about it, you’re the weird one. It’s just Portuguese. He was a present from my aunt. She immigrated to Brazil around the time I entered primary school, I guess. Haven’t heard from her since.”
“Huh. You still have him?”
“Who?”
“Anastacio…”
“Nah. He’s gone too. I was a kid, so… I forgot to move his fishbowl off the microwave before making a snack.”
Yuki looked miserable.
“Are you telling this story to try and get sympathy?”
“Yeah.”
“It doesn’t paint you in a sympathetic light at all!”
“Oh. Well, damn. Even if it didn’t work, maybe it’s still time for you to take the handcuffs off. Your wrist looks like it’s losing circulation.”
He unfortunately had a point.
“I… don’t have another key. I’m sorry.”
“Aw.”
“I’m glad we were able to finally speak freely with each other, though. It’s relieving. Never heard you talk so much, Yuki.”
“I’m really scared of being hit by lightning. You were right to think of me that way. So, that’s why I’m talking more than usual.”
“Really?”
He slid the blade of a pocket knife under my double chin, and all at once, forced it through my throat.
“I’ve never said it before,” he spoke. “But you’re a good-looking guy, and whether or not you worry too much about your weight, that’s not for me to say. If it’s any consolation, I promise that your stomach’s not large enough for me to have a hard time finding the key.”
Guess I didn’t consider that. Well, it was always hard to tell if he was being sincere or not, but whatever. My plan wasn’t all that well thought out. It was nice though, not being able to scream. Worse things happen to better people every day. But it wasn’t much consolation, and before considering the implications of my predicament, I felt the knife enter my stomach.
There was an attempt on my part to limp away from the man bound to my wrist. It didn’t go too well.
He walked with me, my knees buckled, I fell to the ground and clutched my throat. He rolled my body over to gut me like a pig. My remains must have been disgusting.