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I'm not sure if I really like this, I couldn't decide which tone to write it in - humour, seriousness or melancholy. It is also kind of rushed in places but I'm just going to post it now and perhaps edit it tomorrow.
If you read it then cheers, feedback appreciated as usual.
His name was Bill. He was the acting sales rep for a door to door vacuum company whose name he couldn’t even remember. And he was sad.
Man, was Bill sad. He didn’t even know why he was sad. It was a deep state of melancholy that covered him like a shroud. He never had the energy to do anything and would sit at home staring blankly at all the vacuum cleaners in his house. Sometimes he would try and think about why he was so sad, but never be left with an answer and just finished up being even more depressed that he had started as. Bill never had a wife and his parents were a couple of cold awkward people who Bill only vaguely remembered. They had died when he was young and little Bill had stayed in a foster home until he was 18, since no one wanted a child that couldn’t sustain a decent conversation and had a haunted look about him. Even those that took pity on little Bill got fed up with his silence and unspoken attitude of great suffering and took him back to the foster home, like taking a toy back to a store because it wasn’t as good as they expected. Bill supposed he had always been sad, but never could put his finger on a reason why.
Today was just like other days. It was Wednesday morning, 8.00am and Bill was heading off to work to try and flog some more of these stupid vacuum cleaners. He had to go to the “office” first though to speak to Brian, one of those nice guys that’s really an ass hole.
Bill arrived at the “office” - a grotty building that used to be a house with a cheap plywood laminated sign saying “Kuscit Vacuums” above the door. He knocked the door because the bell didn’t work. A few minutes later the secretary, a young university drop out, answered looking slightly flustered.
“Morning Vanessa. Brian said he wanted to speak with me this morning.” Bill said to the girl.
“Oh. Er.. Come on in then. Er, Bill” Vanessa answered, smoothing down her ruffled skirt. The inside of house was as bad as the outside. The pain was stripping of the walls, the rooms smelt of damp and the carpet was lumpy. A few old chairs stood around a door with a crudely nailed on sign saying “Head Office”.
Bill went in.
“Ah, Bill! My number one employee! Good to see you. Come on, have a seat, have a seat.”
Brian was one of those guys who was as phoney as a bear rug and looked like one too. His blond hair was combed back and had a generous helping of Brylcreem, while his eyes had a slightly glazed look, as if he smoked pot. He was a man past his prime, and he was developing a beer gut. He had yellow teeth and an unhealthy colour to his skin Bill noticed that Brian’s zip was open.
“What did you want to talk about, Brian?” Bill asked.
Brian laughed nervously. “I’ll cut straight to the chase here, Bill. I’m making major cutbacks to the workforce, and I’m afraid we can’t keep you on anymore.” Brian couldn’t maintain eye contact and looked at his shoes with sudden interest.
“Oh.” Bill wasn’t really interested, in fact he didn’t give a damn. But he still wanted to give Brian a hard time.
“Thought you said I was your number one employee.”
“Well, aha, er.. You are but.., we are having an overhaul you see and I can’t really.. I’m getting rid of all the staff.” Brian declared recklessly. Why wouldn’t this weirdo bastarrd get out?
“I see,” said Bill. “I take it you mean to get rid of Vanessa, too? Or does she have other uses?”
Brian looked sheepishly away, collected himself and turned back to face Bill.
“Anyway, you of course get some sort of er, redundancy payments, Bill. Let’s discuss those now, shall we?
* * *
Bill was plodding home from Brian’s “office” when he happened to look at a poster of a telegraph pole.
“ American Three Ring Circus
FIRST EVER VISIT !”
It showed a clown on it, with a large smiley face painted on. He looked happy. Bill could see children laughing in the background and pointing at the clown. They weren’t laughing at him, but with him. The clown must be happy. Maybe if he did that, he could be happy, too. Bill turned around and walked back down the street to “Rent It Costumes”.
He rented a clown costume and brought it home, stopping on the way to buy some face paints. When he got home he changed into it, and went to the bathroom mirror. He applied a smile to his face which was grossly exaggerated going all the way up to his eyes. He took a step back and surveyed himself in the mirror - colourful costume, a flower at a jaunty angle, a huge clown shoes, baggy pants and a blue wig. Not to mention the red nose. For perhaps the first time in his life, Bill smiled.
Ten minutes later Bill arrived at a playground. He had had plenty of people stare at him on the way down, but no one had laughed. Yet. Bill jumped into the playground and jumped up and down.
“Look at me boys and girls!” He said as he ran around in circles. Everyone looked at him, but no one even smiled, never mind laughed.
He did a somersault in mid air and landed on his back.
“Arggh.” He cried out as the searing pain hit him.
He jumped back up and went over to small girl and shook her by the shoulders.
“LAUGH GODDAMMIT! LAUGH!” he screamed at her.
One of the mothers - an obese one - threw away a paper she was reading - The Daily Mail - and pointed an accusing finger at him.
“Pedo!!” She shouted. “He’s a pedo!”.
There was a general uproar in the playground, with children running in all directions. Mothers ran after them and through the bedlam Bill could see two men charging towards him. He turned to run but fell over his large humorously shaped shoes and fell. He tried to get up but the two men reached him first and began to rain blows and kicks as he lay helplessly on the ground. They were screaming obscenities at him and calling him a rapist. Suddenly Bill felt a blow land on his head and darkness took him.
When he awoke there was blood over him. He stood up with great pain and difficulty. He was having trouble breathing and he couldn’t see straight. However, he still managed to stumble home.
What had he become? He couldn’t make people laugh. He was always going to be sad. All he could see was the terrified look in the eyes of the young girl he had shook, and the hate filled accusations of the fat Daily Mail woman. He couldn’t go on like this, he become something worse than Brian, than Vanessa, than the two thugs that had beat him up. The truth was, he had never actually been anything.
Half an hour later, Bill was a few inches above his floor with a vacuum cleaner extension cord wrapped around his neck, his corpse slowly and stiffly revolving.
If you read it then cheers, feedback appreciated as usual.
His name was Bill. He was the acting sales rep for a door to door vacuum company whose name he couldn’t even remember. And he was sad.
Man, was Bill sad. He didn’t even know why he was sad. It was a deep state of melancholy that covered him like a shroud. He never had the energy to do anything and would sit at home staring blankly at all the vacuum cleaners in his house. Sometimes he would try and think about why he was so sad, but never be left with an answer and just finished up being even more depressed that he had started as. Bill never had a wife and his parents were a couple of cold awkward people who Bill only vaguely remembered. They had died when he was young and little Bill had stayed in a foster home until he was 18, since no one wanted a child that couldn’t sustain a decent conversation and had a haunted look about him. Even those that took pity on little Bill got fed up with his silence and unspoken attitude of great suffering and took him back to the foster home, like taking a toy back to a store because it wasn’t as good as they expected. Bill supposed he had always been sad, but never could put his finger on a reason why.
Today was just like other days. It was Wednesday morning, 8.00am and Bill was heading off to work to try and flog some more of these stupid vacuum cleaners. He had to go to the “office” first though to speak to Brian, one of those nice guys that’s really an ass hole.
Bill arrived at the “office” - a grotty building that used to be a house with a cheap plywood laminated sign saying “Kuscit Vacuums” above the door. He knocked the door because the bell didn’t work. A few minutes later the secretary, a young university drop out, answered looking slightly flustered.
“Morning Vanessa. Brian said he wanted to speak with me this morning.” Bill said to the girl.
“Oh. Er.. Come on in then. Er, Bill” Vanessa answered, smoothing down her ruffled skirt. The inside of house was as bad as the outside. The pain was stripping of the walls, the rooms smelt of damp and the carpet was lumpy. A few old chairs stood around a door with a crudely nailed on sign saying “Head Office”.
Bill went in.
“Ah, Bill! My number one employee! Good to see you. Come on, have a seat, have a seat.”
Brian was one of those guys who was as phoney as a bear rug and looked like one too. His blond hair was combed back and had a generous helping of Brylcreem, while his eyes had a slightly glazed look, as if he smoked pot. He was a man past his prime, and he was developing a beer gut. He had yellow teeth and an unhealthy colour to his skin Bill noticed that Brian’s zip was open.
“What did you want to talk about, Brian?” Bill asked.
Brian laughed nervously. “I’ll cut straight to the chase here, Bill. I’m making major cutbacks to the workforce, and I’m afraid we can’t keep you on anymore.” Brian couldn’t maintain eye contact and looked at his shoes with sudden interest.
“Oh.” Bill wasn’t really interested, in fact he didn’t give a damn. But he still wanted to give Brian a hard time.
“Thought you said I was your number one employee.”
“Well, aha, er.. You are but.., we are having an overhaul you see and I can’t really.. I’m getting rid of all the staff.” Brian declared recklessly. Why wouldn’t this weirdo bastarrd get out?
“I see,” said Bill. “I take it you mean to get rid of Vanessa, too? Or does she have other uses?”
Brian looked sheepishly away, collected himself and turned back to face Bill.
“Anyway, you of course get some sort of er, redundancy payments, Bill. Let’s discuss those now, shall we?
* * *
Bill was plodding home from Brian’s “office” when he happened to look at a poster of a telegraph pole.
“ American Three Ring Circus
FIRST EVER VISIT !”
It showed a clown on it, with a large smiley face painted on. He looked happy. Bill could see children laughing in the background and pointing at the clown. They weren’t laughing at him, but with him. The clown must be happy. Maybe if he did that, he could be happy, too. Bill turned around and walked back down the street to “Rent It Costumes”.
He rented a clown costume and brought it home, stopping on the way to buy some face paints. When he got home he changed into it, and went to the bathroom mirror. He applied a smile to his face which was grossly exaggerated going all the way up to his eyes. He took a step back and surveyed himself in the mirror - colourful costume, a flower at a jaunty angle, a huge clown shoes, baggy pants and a blue wig. Not to mention the red nose. For perhaps the first time in his life, Bill smiled.
Ten minutes later Bill arrived at a playground. He had had plenty of people stare at him on the way down, but no one had laughed. Yet. Bill jumped into the playground and jumped up and down.
“Look at me boys and girls!” He said as he ran around in circles. Everyone looked at him, but no one even smiled, never mind laughed.
He did a somersault in mid air and landed on his back.
“Arggh.” He cried out as the searing pain hit him.
He jumped back up and went over to small girl and shook her by the shoulders.
“LAUGH GODDAMMIT! LAUGH!” he screamed at her.
One of the mothers - an obese one - threw away a paper she was reading - The Daily Mail - and pointed an accusing finger at him.
“Pedo!!” She shouted. “He’s a pedo!”.
There was a general uproar in the playground, with children running in all directions. Mothers ran after them and through the bedlam Bill could see two men charging towards him. He turned to run but fell over his large humorously shaped shoes and fell. He tried to get up but the two men reached him first and began to rain blows and kicks as he lay helplessly on the ground. They were screaming obscenities at him and calling him a rapist. Suddenly Bill felt a blow land on his head and darkness took him.
When he awoke there was blood over him. He stood up with great pain and difficulty. He was having trouble breathing and he couldn’t see straight. However, he still managed to stumble home.
What had he become? He couldn’t make people laugh. He was always going to be sad. All he could see was the terrified look in the eyes of the young girl he had shook, and the hate filled accusations of the fat Daily Mail woman. He couldn’t go on like this, he become something worse than Brian, than Vanessa, than the two thugs that had beat him up. The truth was, he had never actually been anything.
Half an hour later, Bill was a few inches above his floor with a vacuum cleaner extension cord wrapped around his neck, his corpse slowly and stiffly revolving.
Thanks for reading all. I wasn't sure myself what was going to happen at the end, but I might rewrite the whole thing some time and use a better ending, since I wasn't fussed on his suicide either.
"Brian was one of those guys who was as phoney as a bear rug and looked like one too."
That line made me smile, and I enjoyed the story overall. Not too sure about the death at the end though..
That line made me smile, and I enjoyed the story overall. Not too sure about the death at the end though..
I really enjoyed this up until the end. The line "like taking a toy back to a store because it wasn't as good as they expected" is excellent, really says a great deal.
Didn't like "as if he smoked pot". I think it's the word 'pot' itself sounds like the way a parent would accuse. So, Timmy, have you been smoking 'the pot'? Other than that the description of Brian was great -his language too.
The bit in the playground was disturbing - I could see why Bill would do asuch a thing, and the reaction was about what I'd expect.
I didn't like that he killed himself though - thought that was a little too tragic for the tone you'd chosen. That said, at the beginning you wrote you were unsure of where to take it on that level.
(You got extra marks because whilst I was reading this Talking Heads were on the TV).
Didn't like "as if he smoked pot". I think it's the word 'pot' itself sounds like the way a parent would accuse. So, Timmy, have you been smoking 'the pot'? Other than that the description of Brian was great -his language too.
The bit in the playground was disturbing - I could see why Bill would do asuch a thing, and the reaction was about what I'd expect.
I didn't like that he killed himself though - thought that was a little too tragic for the tone you'd chosen. That said, at the beginning you wrote you were unsure of where to take it on that level.
(You got extra marks because whilst I was reading this Talking Heads were on the TV).
Depressing if nothing else. This is the 3rd out of 4 stories I've read where clowns do not have the 'happy / cheerful' personalities they are portrayed to have.
Mmmm ... nice.
Not perfect, but a good yarn.
Not perfect, but a good yarn.
www.blackcastle.tk
A site Paradox and I made, with the help of Tomoose. Lots of dark stories on there.
A site Paradox and I made, with the help of Tomoose. Lots of dark stories on there.
oohh..dark, depressing..I LIKE IT. Nice story. Id like to read more from you
Quite a decent story written in a way where it didn't have two much to do with clowns.
It actually shows some reality of what some kids may go through if they lose their parents, then theirs the commiting suicide at the end. :-(
It actually shows some reality of what some kids may go through if they lose their parents, then theirs the commiting suicide at the end. :-(
I'm not sure if I really like this, I couldn't decide which tone to write it in - humour, seriousness or melancholy. It is also kind of rushed in places but I'm just going to post it now and perhaps edit it tomorrow.
If you read it then cheers, feedback appreciated as usual.
His name was Bill. He was the acting sales rep for a door to door vacuum company whose name he couldn’t even remember. And he was sad.
Man, was Bill sad. He didn’t even know why he was sad. It was a deep state of melancholy that covered him like a shroud. He never had the energy to do anything and would sit at home staring blankly at all the vacuum cleaners in his house. Sometimes he would try and think about why he was so sad, but never be left with an answer and just finished up being even more depressed that he had started as. Bill never had a wife and his parents were a couple of cold awkward people who Bill only vaguely remembered. They had died when he was young and little Bill had stayed in a foster home until he was 18, since no one wanted a child that couldn’t sustain a decent conversation and had a haunted look about him. Even those that took pity on little Bill got fed up with his silence and unspoken attitude of great suffering and took him back to the foster home, like taking a toy back to a store because it wasn’t as good as they expected. Bill supposed he had always been sad, but never could put his finger on a reason why.
Today was just like other days. It was Wednesday morning, 8.00am and Bill was heading off to work to try and flog some more of these stupid vacuum cleaners. He had to go to the “office” first though to speak to Brian, one of those nice guys that’s really an ass hole.
Bill arrived at the “office” - a grotty building that used to be a house with a cheap plywood laminated sign saying “Kuscit Vacuums” above the door. He knocked the door because the bell didn’t work. A few minutes later the secretary, a young university drop out, answered looking slightly flustered.
“Morning Vanessa. Brian said he wanted to speak with me this morning.” Bill said to the girl.
“Oh. Er.. Come on in then. Er, Bill” Vanessa answered, smoothing down her ruffled skirt. The inside of house was as bad as the outside. The pain was stripping of the walls, the rooms smelt of damp and the carpet was lumpy. A few old chairs stood around a door with a crudely nailed on sign saying “Head Office”.
Bill went in.
“Ah, Bill! My number one employee! Good to see you. Come on, have a seat, have a seat.”
Brian was one of those guys who was as phoney as a bear rug and looked like one too. His blond hair was combed back and had a generous helping of Brylcreem, while his eyes had a slightly glazed look, as if he smoked pot. He was a man past his prime, and he was developing a beer gut. He had yellow teeth and an unhealthy colour to his skin Bill noticed that Brian’s zip was open.
“What did you want to talk about, Brian?” Bill asked.
Brian laughed nervously. “I’ll cut straight to the chase here, Bill. I’m making major cutbacks to the workforce, and I’m afraid we can’t keep you on anymore.” Brian couldn’t maintain eye contact and looked at his shoes with sudden interest.
“Oh.” Bill wasn’t really interested, in fact he didn’t give a damn. But he still wanted to give Brian a hard time.
“Thought you said I was your number one employee.”
“Well, aha, er.. You are but.., we are having an overhaul you see and I can’t really.. I’m getting rid of all the staff.” Brian declared recklessly. Why wouldn’t this weirdo bastarrd get out?
“I see,” said Bill. “I take it you mean to get rid of Vanessa, too? Or does she have other uses?”
Brian looked sheepishly away, collected himself and turned back to face Bill.
“Anyway, you of course get some sort of er, redundancy payments, Bill. Let’s discuss those now, shall we?
* * *
Bill was plodding home from Brian’s “office” when he happened to look at a poster of a telegraph pole.
“ American Three Ring Circus
FIRST EVER VISIT !”
It showed a clown on it, with a large smiley face painted on. He looked happy. Bill could see children laughing in the background and pointing at the clown. They weren’t laughing at him, but with him. The clown must be happy. Maybe if he did that, he could be happy, too. Bill turned around and walked back down the street to “Rent It Costumes”.
He rented a clown costume and brought it home, stopping on the way to buy some face paints. When he got home he changed into it, and went to the bathroom mirror. He applied a smile to his face which was grossly exaggerated going all the way up to his eyes. He took a step back and surveyed himself in the mirror - colourful costume, a flower at a jaunty angle, a huge clown shoes, baggy pants and a blue wig. Not to mention the red nose. For perhaps the first time in his life, Bill smiled.
Ten minutes later Bill arrived at a playground. He had had plenty of people stare at him on the way down, but no one had laughed. Yet. Bill jumped into the playground and jumped up and down.
“Look at me boys and girls!” He said as he ran around in circles. Everyone looked at him, but no one even smiled, never mind laughed.
He did a somersault in mid air and landed on his back.
“Arggh.” He cried out as the searing pain hit him.
He jumped back up and went over to small girl and shook her by the shoulders.
“LAUGH GODDAMMIT! LAUGH!” he screamed at her.
One of the mothers - an obese one - threw away a paper she was reading - The Daily Mail - and pointed an accusing finger at him.
“Pedo!!” She shouted. “He’s a pedo!”.
There was a general uproar in the playground, with children running in all directions. Mothers ran after them and through the bedlam Bill could see two men charging towards him. He turned to run but fell over his large humorously shaped shoes and fell. He tried to get up but the two men reached him first and began to rain blows and kicks as he lay helplessly on the ground. They were screaming obscenities at him and calling him a rapist. Suddenly Bill felt a blow land on his head and darkness took him.
When he awoke there was blood over him. He stood up with great pain and difficulty. He was having trouble breathing and he couldn’t see straight. However, he still managed to stumble home.
What had he become? He couldn’t make people laugh. He was always going to be sad. All he could see was the terrified look in the eyes of the young girl he had shook, and the hate filled accusations of the fat Daily Mail woman. He couldn’t go on like this, he become something worse than Brian, than Vanessa, than the two thugs that had beat him up. The truth was, he had never actually been anything.
Half an hour later, Bill was a few inches above his floor with a vacuum cleaner extension cord wrapped around his neck, his corpse slowly and stiffly revolving.
If you read it then cheers, feedback appreciated as usual.
His name was Bill. He was the acting sales rep for a door to door vacuum company whose name he couldn’t even remember. And he was sad.
Man, was Bill sad. He didn’t even know why he was sad. It was a deep state of melancholy that covered him like a shroud. He never had the energy to do anything and would sit at home staring blankly at all the vacuum cleaners in his house. Sometimes he would try and think about why he was so sad, but never be left with an answer and just finished up being even more depressed that he had started as. Bill never had a wife and his parents were a couple of cold awkward people who Bill only vaguely remembered. They had died when he was young and little Bill had stayed in a foster home until he was 18, since no one wanted a child that couldn’t sustain a decent conversation and had a haunted look about him. Even those that took pity on little Bill got fed up with his silence and unspoken attitude of great suffering and took him back to the foster home, like taking a toy back to a store because it wasn’t as good as they expected. Bill supposed he had always been sad, but never could put his finger on a reason why.
Today was just like other days. It was Wednesday morning, 8.00am and Bill was heading off to work to try and flog some more of these stupid vacuum cleaners. He had to go to the “office” first though to speak to Brian, one of those nice guys that’s really an ass hole.
Bill arrived at the “office” - a grotty building that used to be a house with a cheap plywood laminated sign saying “Kuscit Vacuums” above the door. He knocked the door because the bell didn’t work. A few minutes later the secretary, a young university drop out, answered looking slightly flustered.
“Morning Vanessa. Brian said he wanted to speak with me this morning.” Bill said to the girl.
“Oh. Er.. Come on in then. Er, Bill” Vanessa answered, smoothing down her ruffled skirt. The inside of house was as bad as the outside. The pain was stripping of the walls, the rooms smelt of damp and the carpet was lumpy. A few old chairs stood around a door with a crudely nailed on sign saying “Head Office”.
Bill went in.
“Ah, Bill! My number one employee! Good to see you. Come on, have a seat, have a seat.”
Brian was one of those guys who was as phoney as a bear rug and looked like one too. His blond hair was combed back and had a generous helping of Brylcreem, while his eyes had a slightly glazed look, as if he smoked pot. He was a man past his prime, and he was developing a beer gut. He had yellow teeth and an unhealthy colour to his skin Bill noticed that Brian’s zip was open.
“What did you want to talk about, Brian?” Bill asked.
Brian laughed nervously. “I’ll cut straight to the chase here, Bill. I’m making major cutbacks to the workforce, and I’m afraid we can’t keep you on anymore.” Brian couldn’t maintain eye contact and looked at his shoes with sudden interest.
“Oh.” Bill wasn’t really interested, in fact he didn’t give a damn. But he still wanted to give Brian a hard time.
“Thought you said I was your number one employee.”
“Well, aha, er.. You are but.., we are having an overhaul you see and I can’t really.. I’m getting rid of all the staff.” Brian declared recklessly. Why wouldn’t this weirdo bastarrd get out?
“I see,” said Bill. “I take it you mean to get rid of Vanessa, too? Or does she have other uses?”
Brian looked sheepishly away, collected himself and turned back to face Bill.
“Anyway, you of course get some sort of er, redundancy payments, Bill. Let’s discuss those now, shall we?
* * *
Bill was plodding home from Brian’s “office” when he happened to look at a poster of a telegraph pole.
“ American Three Ring Circus
FIRST EVER VISIT !”
It showed a clown on it, with a large smiley face painted on. He looked happy. Bill could see children laughing in the background and pointing at the clown. They weren’t laughing at him, but with him. The clown must be happy. Maybe if he did that, he could be happy, too. Bill turned around and walked back down the street to “Rent It Costumes”.
He rented a clown costume and brought it home, stopping on the way to buy some face paints. When he got home he changed into it, and went to the bathroom mirror. He applied a smile to his face which was grossly exaggerated going all the way up to his eyes. He took a step back and surveyed himself in the mirror - colourful costume, a flower at a jaunty angle, a huge clown shoes, baggy pants and a blue wig. Not to mention the red nose. For perhaps the first time in his life, Bill smiled.
Ten minutes later Bill arrived at a playground. He had had plenty of people stare at him on the way down, but no one had laughed. Yet. Bill jumped into the playground and jumped up and down.
“Look at me boys and girls!” He said as he ran around in circles. Everyone looked at him, but no one even smiled, never mind laughed.
He did a somersault in mid air and landed on his back.
“Arggh.” He cried out as the searing pain hit him.
He jumped back up and went over to small girl and shook her by the shoulders.
“LAUGH GODDAMMIT! LAUGH!” he screamed at her.
One of the mothers - an obese one - threw away a paper she was reading - The Daily Mail - and pointed an accusing finger at him.
“Pedo!!” She shouted. “He’s a pedo!”.
There was a general uproar in the playground, with children running in all directions. Mothers ran after them and through the bedlam Bill could see two men charging towards him. He turned to run but fell over his large humorously shaped shoes and fell. He tried to get up but the two men reached him first and began to rain blows and kicks as he lay helplessly on the ground. They were screaming obscenities at him and calling him a rapist. Suddenly Bill felt a blow land on his head and darkness took him.
When he awoke there was blood over him. He stood up with great pain and difficulty. He was having trouble breathing and he couldn’t see straight. However, he still managed to stumble home.
What had he become? He couldn’t make people laugh. He was always going to be sad. All he could see was the terrified look in the eyes of the young girl he had shook, and the hate filled accusations of the fat Daily Mail woman. He couldn’t go on like this, he become something worse than Brian, than Vanessa, than the two thugs that had beat him up. The truth was, he had never actually been anything.
Half an hour later, Bill was a few inches above his floor with a vacuum cleaner extension cord wrapped around his neck, his corpse slowly and stiffly revolving.