The wig maker

< style="font-family: arial;">He walks the streets. Every night. By day he stays home and stares at me. That is all he does. He does not need to sleep. He smokes his cigarettes, drinks his Imperial Blue and stares at me. Every day. I try to sleep but I fail. I can only imagine what Pathi does every night. Yesterday he came home covered in blood. Drenched. I asked him if it was raining. He smiled. A smile that left me feeling cold and numb. I should have kept my mouth shut. He threw a bag across the table. “For you,” he said. It took me a while to figure my present out. It was a scalp. The skin still on it, the hair wet with blood. I’m not sure what I thought. “Why ?” I asked him. “ ‘Cause you’re going bald writer man.” The same dead smile on his face. There was nothing left to do but try it on.

< style="font-family: arial;">Pathi and I get along fine now. He does what he wants to. I sit in my corner. Pathi feeds me, brings me my booze and cigarettes and drugs. I cannot really complain. The wig has done wonders for my hairline. I preen in front of the mirror. Happy. Life would be perfect if not for the stench of dried blood and decaying skin on my head. Pathi is beginning to attract attention. A report in the newspaper about a man found scalped, his throat slit with a knife. I read dispassionately. I should be throwing up and feeling sick but nothing. Pathi walks in with the groceries. Blood on his clothes again. I do not ask him what he has done. I’ll read about it tomorrow. I take the bags from him and make myself an omlette. Nothing really shocks me anymore. A part of brain says none of this real. Another part begs me to kill him before its too late. I thought it was all ready too late. Still, can kill him. I think he’s waiting for me to try. I think that’s what this is all about. He’s waiting for me to type the magic words. Kill him. Now. I cannot. Just doesn’t feel right. He’s as much a part of me as I am a part of him. I’m stuck. Stalemate.

A blinding flash goes off in my head. I cannot see. I cannot open my eyes. I cannot. A huge neon sign suspended amongst nothing. Welcome to Endgame it says. Lights flashing like a cheap bar and restaurant. Welcome to Endgame. There is nothing left to do but laugh. And I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.