- He sits alone on a bench. The car is mostly empty. He looks to the left. There's one girl, alone as well, sitting, reading The Stranger by Camus. Great choice. One of his favorites. But it doesn't make him smile. Nothing does anymore. Not since today.
The building where the ceremony was being held was beautiful. Dome-shaped and well-lit, with a violinist playing in the background. This is nice, he thought to himself. Glad to be alone. He wanted to experience this with no interruptions. He sat in the back of the building, in a row that was nearly empty. But as time passed, people filled the chairs. As he hoped, no one spoke to him. They barely acknowledged him, except when one of the annoying cousins whispered he was in the way as the bride was making her entrance.
He smiled, thought again, This is nice. Almost got sentimental as he watched the bride walking with her father. But once the the minister started speaking, the negativity poured in. His statements about the couple made him think, What a bunch a balls this is. If only they knew the truth. When the minister asked if anyone objected, there was a few seconds of silence, and then awkward laughter. Fuck it, I should just scream out, "IT'S NOT WHAT IT SEEMS! DON'T BE FOOLED!" But he remained quiet as a mouse, always smiling. Putting on a show, just as the people on the spotlight.
The announcement of the now married couple was made, and everyone dutifully clapped. As he stepped out of the building and into the cold, he saw her. She stood in a long black coat, wearing black high-heels. Her hair flailed in the wind. She tried to smile. He didn't.
"Decided to show."
"Yeah, just couldn't bare to watch the ceremony."
"Still mad, huh?" The wind covered her face with her hair. She tried to force the strands behind her ears.
"Haven't I proved myself. Haven't I tried everything to prove that it's you. Why won't you forgive me, Dean?"
Silence, then, "You said no. So, that's it. How don't you get that. Why doesn't that get through to you." He began to get angry then. Took a step closer in her direction, pointed his finger and lowered his voice. "I don't think you're listening, Monica. Fucking listen. You and I were bullshit. Okay? Think of all those little things. Those little lies. They're always the ones that stick out in the brain. They're the ones that blow up in the end. And when you said no, when you rejected me, I knew those little lies were the fucking truth. Hence, bullshit. Get it, Monica? Are you fucking getting it?"
He threw his hand in the air, poof. He walked away. Fuck this, he thought as he walked past the gates towards the subway.
He began mumbling to himself, cursing. He walked faster, heard his nice shoes slamming on the concrete. "Idiot, idiot, what a fucking idiot. Waste of time, waste of money. Waste of life."
He shut up, ran down the into the subway. On purpose, he bumped into a guy going up the steps. "Watch it, white boy."
"Go fuck your dad. If you can find him." Dean continued to rush down the steps as the Hispanic man shouted at him in Spanish, swearing he'd find him, cut him up, damn faggot.
Dean smirked, pleased with himself. He waited for his train. Watched everything. After ten minutes he saw the lights reaching through the darkness. He put his hands in his pockets. Stepped onto the train.
- He sits alone on a bench. The car is mostly empty. He looks to the
left. There's one girl, alone as well, sitting, reading The Stranger by
Camus. Great choice. One of his favorites. But it doesn't make him
smile. Nothing does anymore. Not since today.
As the train pulls into the next station, Dean swings his feet back on the ground. Leans his elbows on his knees, ponders. He senses someone there. It's a Colombian. He sits in front of Dean, like fate brought them together. Well well well, just in time.
Dean goes to sit next to the stranger. He doesn't say anything. He just sits at first, staring at the poor man. Fingering his pretty blade in his coat pocket. "These nice clothes don't mean dick. Nothing matters. Not these nice clothes. Not where you're from. Comprende? You understand what I'm saying?"
Colombian looks scared. He doesn't say a word. Just looks at Dean, listening, waiting. Finally, he speaks, "It's not my problem." He has a thick accent. "Leave me alone now." Colombian turns his head, wiping his hands clean.
Dean gets up, begins to laugh. "All right. I can leave you alone." He flicks the blade open, taking it out of his pocket. "I'LL FUCKING LEAVE YOU ALONE WHEN YOU'RE DEAD!"
He sticks the blade in Colombian's neck, quick and deep. Pulls it out to stab a second time. Dean begins cackling, as blood pours out of Colombian's neck onto the dirty floor. The train is pulling into yet another station. "How long's this fucking line?" he asks Miss Camus . She blankly stares at him, trying to become invisible.
Dean steps off the train, closes the blade and sticks his bloody hand in his pocket. "This station is quiet," he says to no one. He jogs up the stairs, out of the station. Stops a stranger. "Hey, which way toward the nearest uptown train?"