Below me lies a fat old man, warm and sleepy in his bathtub, his belly sliced open, bleeding out in front of the woman he loved. Loves, even when it is she that holds the kitchen knife. I can clearly see the top of her head, her tiny hands slowly rolling the knife around as he just lies there doing nothing– the fool, some people you can’t help. Idiot, his head seems even bigger from up here. From up here it looks like– wait, that’s my head. That’s my belly… that’s me. I’m the old man.
I blink and I’m sitting on my ass, a ball rolling in front of me and mother is screaming about not playing ball inside and… ah, I think I know this. Life flashing by no? I read somewhere that the brain does this to find a solution to a problem. Racing through all the data it has. A problem like being stabbed by your wife? I doubt it. Shit, I’m dying then. Mother waves her finger at me and tears roll down my eyes.
I blink and now I’m reading. Reading… what? What is this all about? Right, I guess I’m supposed to be thinking that. Thinking what is this book about? Stupid, I’ve got so much stuff I should be doing and I’m here wasting my time. I get distracted way too easily. I’m going to stop reading now– yes, and not because you wrote that. You think you’re being clever? No, I am making this decision, made that decision. Yes, me. I’m going to stop reading now!
Back To You: This is a story about us
