Everything You Have Been Told Is A Lie

Everything you have been told is a lie…

With one hand we feed a child, with the other we set the mother on fire…

It was round about that time that I lost control entirely. All those dark fantasies that had been building up inside finally snapped loose and my old life left me completely. I embraced the darkness, grabbed the door handle and ripped it open, rode the bullet, and a thousand and one other figures of speech meaning the same thing and killed them. I had always known it would happen, now to see whether or not I would pay for the consequences of my actions.

It had been a good afternoon at work, the Rugby Curry Cup Finals had brought in a few customers and they had spent gleefully. In my time in the pit I call the bar, I had made over two hundred in tips and I had a big smile on my face; rent was paid up. Now however, two hours later, the bar was empty. We had no patrons at the tables on the deck, no one was sitting at the bar and the waitress for the night and I were completely bored. We even had a DJ there; he and his wife had come up with an idea with my bosses, thinking that maybe they could move the party nights from Fridays to Saturdays. This very night was the first trial of the experiment, and it was turning out to be a flop. The DJ was playing loudly, I was standing behind the bar doodling marks of chaos over every scrap of paper I could find and the waitress was reading the newspaper. And then to our dismay, they walked in…

I would’ve preferred not having any customers then having them there.

You know those women you see in movies and dingy bars? The ones who normally have some stupid name like Sunshine or Baby or something as equally pathetic as that, and feel that such name gives them the elegance of a courtesan, yet in truth only associates them with filthy stripper-whores out of a Robert Rodriguez movie. Well this… thing was one of them. A decent enough looking woman, if she didn’t ooze scumminess about her, she had blond hair cut just to her shoulders and wore a bad impersonation of a cowboy hat. Her spaghetti strap top seemed far too large, and her bra was definitely overcompensating for something, because it seemed to drop open far too often when she bent over. Perhaps that’s what she wanted, but it gave her an overall disgusting appearance. Never mind the caked saliva on the corners of her mouth, or the lack of makeup that would have hidden the pockmarks across her fat cheeks; she looked about fifty, when her true age was below thirty. I kept thinking that she would be the perfect poster child for anti-drug campaigns.

And her boyfriend, oh my God… he walked in not wearing a t-shirt, and his tracksuit pants kept slipping far too low, showing us that on this day he had decided that free-balling would be a better option. He must have been about ten years older than her, and just looking at his face you could feel the oily lowliness that he was. Groping her all over, her not resisting, they walked through our front doors screeching like cats being raped and waving their hands in the air as if they were the star attraction at a movie premiere. And in this small town, I guess they were; they were the perfect picture of what the party life was here.

But we accept anyone’s crown, as long as the crown is good. They ordered typical drinks, Brandy and Coke, and then proceeded to whore themselves across where we had cleared the tables to make space for a dance floor. I tried my best not to watch them, I did my utmost to not be appalled and throw up. I wore my fake smile every time they glanced at me, and I tried my very best to not show how much I hated them.

They had a few more drinks; their comments were stupid and inbred. And then they made to leave. And then that wench made the worst move of her life: she asked for her bill to be put on a tab.

Just because her mother was a hairdresser whom everyone loved to go to, just because she had worked in this place in the distant past, just because she thought she was the shit and she got away with crap like this all the time, just because of everything she thought she could simply make some stupid fucking thing up and get free drinks. She had no tab, we didn’t do tabs here; or so I had been led to believe, but my bosses had never really had the balls to say no to people anyway.

So hey, I lost it…

The knife was in my hand before I knew it, and I was on the other side of the bar, moving towards her with murder in my eyes. She couldn’t see what was coming for her through the drunken haze and the scrap of a man next to her was just as oblivious. I made one slight movement, as I had been taught to before, and his eyes widened in shock. The pathetic excuse for a woman only realized after the arterial spray had already drenched her face what had happened, and she made a drunken grab at the blade. This infuriated me more, and I shoved the blade deep into her belly, and pulled it to the left and right, hoping silently that it would be the same in reality as it was in my fantasies. And lo and behold, when I retracted the blade her bowels did indeed spill to the floor.

She slumped stupidly to the floor, staring at her entrails like they were the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. I stepped back as she toppled over not wanting her filth on me anymore than it already was. I looked down at my hands, seeing the blood spattered there, and was tempted to lick it off. Then I remembered who it had come from and stopped.

I felt glorious, it had gone by so quickly but I could feel their life spilling away below me. I felt like a god…

I turned and went back behind the bar, waiting for them to leave. Another customer that didn’t pay, which means no tip for me. They walked out as noisy as when they had entered. I stood there, my little dark fantasy playing out before my eyes, and was happy when they left. Once again I didn’t act it out. But maybe next time. Maybe next time I will feel them die beneath my heels.

Maybe next time I can truly leave this life…