"Each week, 3WW will post three (or more) random words. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to write something using all of those words. It can be a few lines, a story, a poem, anything. I'll also attempt to write something using the same three words.
Leave a comment if you participate. Many fun and interesting people might visit your blog.
This week's words are:
I have to see him. If only for a second or two. Just long enough to look into his eyes and see if he recognizes me after all these years. I'm hoping he will, but I'm guessing he won't.
It's too long ago, and he's become this hugely important public figure now. People pay to hear him speak. People soak up his words like old sponges tossed in a corner for years until they become cracked and brittle and there's no telling if water will help them or simply make them break apart. He's far better at the breaking apart than he is at the helping.
How did he get to be so influential and important? Why do people believe that he holds some magic key to the kingdom of life and how it should be lived? If they could only see the man I knew from the past, they'd laugh at how foolishly they pin their hopes and dreams on someone who couldn't be bothered to comb the toast crumbs out of his beard before he met with the loan officer at the bank so he could beg for money to keep his own dream afloat.
Why does no one ever wonder where he got the means to become this bigger than life persona? Isn't this the day and age of public exposure and the politics of personal destruction? Well, when does he get his due? When do people find out that their hero is nothing but a con man hellbent on taking their money and using it for his own extravagant purposes.
I want to see him exposed for the fraud he is. I want him to pay for all the mean-spirited, hateful things he said to me, and how he ground those ugly words into my head like pieces of glass being mashed with a mortar and pestle. I want him to suffer loss like I have; I want him to know abandonment and despair. I want to see him crushed and see if he has what it takes to pull himself up by the bootstraps and move on. I want to see people turn away from him in disgust as though he's something the dog killed in the woods and dragged home and put on the living room rug like a trophy.
I read somewhere that being shot in the stomach is the worst way to die. It's painful and takes a long time to finally bleed the life out of you. I'd like to be able to give that kind of pain to him. See how he absorbs it and deals with the consequences of it. He's never had to deal with consequences before. It's time he learned.
That's why I'm standing here; why I decided to linger in the corridor outside his tv studio dressing room. What I want to do is, using subtle moves and keeping my body shielded from his view until the last possible minute, wait until I can be positioned right in front of him, and then lift my face and look right into his eyes. I'll say, "Hiya Cowboy. Remember me? How's tricks?" Then I'll wait for his response... if he can manage to make one.
He really has cleaned up nicely. No one would suspect that my reference to "tricks" signifies his time as a pimp pushing sex and drugs and whatever those who want to escape and feel good for 5 minutes will pay for.
Wait... I think he's coming out... yes, the door is open and he's moving into the corridor. Now if I can just push through... there, I'm right behind him. I'll pat him on the shoulder... yes, he's turning to face me. And I say, "Remember me, Cowboy? How's tricks?"
His eyes; he looks startled. I smile, and he recoils. And then I pull the trigger...